Chance Encounter III: Return to Middle Earth
by Telcontar Rulz
Summary: AU. 3rd part of CHANCE ENCOUNTER series. A new evil rises in Middle Earth. Legolas, Balian and their friends both old and new must unite to fight it. But the enemy has plans for one of them... LotR,KoH,Troy,PotC Xover.
1. Prologue

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Note: **This is the third instalment of the _Chance Encounter_ series. If you haven't read the previous two, _Chance Encounter_ and _Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy_, I suggest you read them first, or else you will be very confused.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Prologue**

A fire burned in the centre of the crystal. The stone sat on a granite pedestal with strange foreign runes carved into it. The room was cold. He suppressed a shiver, and his breath came out in a pale cloud of steam. Weakness was not an option. He needed to prove that he was strong; stronger than the rest of them. Stronger, than _him_.

The only source of heat came from the crystal. It was as if that smooth hard stone was alive. A dark cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. Wisps of smoke materialized to form the trailing ends of the cloak. It towered over the man standing next to the granite pedestal.

At the dark figure's appearance, the fire in the stone seemed to grow until it was no longer a smouldering flame but a blazing inferno. From the depths of the billowing black fabric, a voice rang out, seeming to shake the very foundations of the building which they were in. "The Palantir of Barad-dûr," said the faceless voice. "The greatest of the seven seeing stones." The head of the figure turned to the man. "Guy de Lusignan," said the figure. "Show him to me."

Guy nodded and resolutely placed his hand on the seeing stone. The dark figure reached out and touched the stone also. The stone seemed to burn Guy's hand. He ignored it the best he could and channelled his bitter hatred into the stone until they could both see _him_, the man who was the subject of Guy's hate. From inside his dark cloak, the magelord smiled. He knew potential when he saw it.

* * *

Aragorn woke up with a start. Something had disturbed his sleep, but he did not know what it was. He'd had this feeling for a very long time; a premonition that something terrible was about to happen. Everything was still and silent in his darkened chamber. His keen senses, honed by years of living in the wild, caught nothing except the sleeping Arwen's steady breathing. He relaxed and smiled when his eyes fell on her. She slept like a mortal woman now, with her eyes closed. He leaned in close to her and kissed her on the cheek. His beard tickled her skin. "Estel..." she protested in her sleep. She turned over so that her back faced him.

The King of Gondor suppressed a chuckle. His wife was always attentive, except for now. Legolas would have enjoyed hearing about how he'd been ignored. The elf loved tales with rowdy connotations, and he loved teasing Aragorn even more. 'I miss you, mellon-nin,' thought Aragorn. 'You and Balian, the both of you.'

He was wide awake now. The feeling had cast away all remnants of sleep. He got up and swung his bare feet over the edge of the bed. He didn't know why, but he was compelled to look towards the east, to Mordor and beyond. The sky was dark and empty, as it ought to be, but something still sent a shiver down his spine.


	2. Separated

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 1:**** Separated**

In the distance, the sun was setting, casting its golden glow across the ocean. The waves tossed bits of driftwood and seaweed onto the white sand of the beach. A little boy, wearing a small tri-cornered hat skipped along the edge of the sea, singing to himself. His mother followed behind him more slowly, letting the waves caress her bare feet. The sea breezes blew her hair back as she looked out across the sea, deep in thought. Crabs scuttled into their sandy holes as she passed. Elizabeth Swann-Turner breathed in deeply the briny smell of the ocean, thinking of its steward and guardian, her husband Will Turner.

Blissfully unaware of his mother's wistful thoughts, William James Turner, son of the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ and the King of the Brethren Court, ran along the shore, exploring everything in his path. He'd just turned six, a big boy by his standards. His birthday had been a simple affair, although his mother had tried her best to make it special. It just hadn't been the same. Both Captain Barbossa and his Uncle Jack-Jack had promised to be there, not at the same time of course, —Willie wondered curiously about what would happen if they did meet each other— but neither of them had turned up. It was not unusual for Jack to be late, but Captain Barbossa had never missed a single birthday of his, and he always brought the most wonderful presents and stories. His mother often told him about his Grandpa Weatherby, and Willie was certain that his grandfather was just like the Captain.

A glint of gold caught his eye. It didn't look like seaweed. Cautiously, Willie crept closer. A man lay on the sand. A man with pointed ears. "Mama!" he shouted. "Mama, come quickly! There's a man on the beach!"

Elizabeth heard her son and she ran up to where he was, not caring if she wet her skirts or not. Willie was right to be surprised, for the man on the beach looked ethereal, even when soaked.

And he had Will's face.

"Oh God," breathed Elizabeth, suddenly feeling lightheaded. It wasn't possible, was it? Why did this man, if he could indeed be called that, have Will's face?

"What do we do, Mama?" asked Willie. Elizabeth bit her lip.

"We can't leave him out here," she said at last. Between the two of them, mother and son managed to drag the unconscious stranger back to their cottage overlooking the sea. Averting her gaze as much as possible, Elizabeth removed the stranger's outlandish wet clothing and dressed him in some of Will's old clothes. She set aside his quiver, bow and knives, putting them out of reach, in case he meant her or her son any harm. Once he was dressed, she settled him on a mattress in their small sitting room and then sent Willie off to bed. She would keep watch tonight, in case the stranger was liable to cause any mischief.

* * *

The first thing Legolas saw when he woke up was a dying fire in the hearth. The last thing he remembered was jumping from the _Black Pearl_ into the dark bottomless ocean in a desperate attempt to help his friend, a mad blacksmith by the name of Balian. The thought of his friend made him sit up abruptly, and then he wished he hadn't. His head swam and dizziness swamped him. He groaned. The next thing he knew was that there was a click and the cold muzzle of a gun was placed against his temple. As his vision settled, he saw from the corner of his eye that it was a woman who was pointing a gun to his head.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Legolas," he told her truthfully. There was no point in hiding it. She probably wouldn't recognize the name.

"What is your purpose here?"

Legolas pondered this for a moment. "I have no idea," he said finally.

* * *

Andromache opened her eyes. Her face felt stiff and dry. She was caked with salt and lying on hot sand. Balian stood with his back facing her, rocking Astyanax in his arms and humming softly. Some palm trees beside her shielded them from the sun. There was a tiny pond with scum on the surface, a couple of rocks and not much else except sand all around. The last thing she remembered was a storm on the sea, and a huge wave which had thrown her from the ship. Cassandra lay on her back, not yet awake. Slowly, Andromache sat up. "Balian," she said softly. He turned a regarded her with his liquid brown eyes. "Where are we?"

"I'm not absolutely certain," he said "but I can guess."

"Where?" repeated Andromache.

"Somewhere in the Holy Land, close to Jerusalem. I've been here before, I think, the first time I was shipwrecked."

"This is the Holy Land...?"

"I know." Balian smiled wryly. "Ridiculous, isn't it, why men are fighting over this."

"I'm just surprised," said Andromache. "What are we doing here? I mean, I know why _you're _here, but Cassandra, Astyanax, and me... we don't belong here."

"I suppose you and Astyanax are here because you two fell into the ocean, and I jumped in to save you, or tried to save you. I'm not sure how Cassandra ended up here with us. I guess I'll have to ask her when she wakes. It's lucky that there's an oasis here."

Astyanax decided that Balian's attention had been diverted for long enough. He reached up with a fat little hand, caught hold of some of the man's dark hair and yanked.

"Hey, little one, play nicely," protested Balian gently. Astyanax crooned.

Andromache watched the man play with her baby. He really would've made a wonderful father, if the fates had not been cruel enough to tear that chance from him. "Is he all right?" she asked.

"He's fine," said Balian. "I washed the salt off him. Babies have awfully delicate skin, and I have been told that it's absolutely necessary to keep them clean."

"I see why they call you Nanny Balian," said Andromache with a smile.

"No you don't," said Balian quickly. "Christ! I have done nothing to warrant such name-calling."

"No, that's right. You don't deserve it. You are a nothing like a nanny, Balian." Andromache chuckled to herself as she brushed the scum off the surface of the pond and took a drink. Men were just like children. Her Hector had been no exception. "Do you have something to store water with, Balian?" she asked after she had finished. "I don't suppose we are staying here, and we will need water for our journey to wherever it is that you want to take us."

Balian handed Astyanax to his mother. "I have a leather flask," he said "but it's not big." He unhooked it from his belt and filled it.

"Where are we?" It seemed that Cassandra had finally woken up. "Balian! Andromache! Thank goodness you're both all right!"

"How did you get here?" said Andromache.

"I jumped in after you," said Cassandra, looking slightly embarrassed. "So where are we?"

"We're in Balian's world, Cassandra," said Andromache.

"This is Ibelin?" asked Cassandra incredulously. She looked around her, but she could see nothing save for endless stretches of yellow desert and an empty blue sky. "I thought it would be a little less...sandy."

"No, this is the desert," said Balian. "Ibelin is quite far away." He glanced up. "If I remember correctly, Jerusalem is rather close. It may be under Muslim control, but I don't think they'll hassle us. Salah-al-Din is an honourable man."

They waited until dusk before setting off. From his previous experience, Balian knew that it was better to travel at night while in the desert. After two hours of walking, however, the women were exhausted. They were hungry and not used to travelling so much. Balian allowed them to rest for a while before continuing on their journey. His sweat soaked shirt was cooling rapidly in the cold of the desert night. Andromache shielded Astyanax from the wind as best she could, all the while shivering violently. Balian hesitated, it seemed so inappropriate, but he did not want anyone to catch their death of cold. Awkwardly, he reached out for both Andromache and Cassandra. "It'll be warmer this way," he said. Cassandra gladly snuggled up to him.

* * *

Balian hadn't meant to fall asleep. He opened his heavy eyes. It was morning, and it was beginning to get hot. On a sand dune in the near distance was a lone rider. He called out in Arabic. The words were indistinct and Balian's inexperienced ear could not interpret them. He stood up, hoping that the rider did not perceive him as a threat. The rider urged his horse into a gallop and neared them.

"What business do you have on my master's land?" he demanded in accented French.

Balian would recognize that man anywhere. "Imad?" he said. "Thank God!"

Imad's eyes widened as he recognized his Frankish friend. "Allahu akbar!" he cried. "Balian! You're alive! We all thought you'd died in that shipwreck. God really must love you." He glanced down at Andromache, Cassandra and baby Astyanax, and then back at Balian. "You have been productive, my friend," he said with a grin.

"I beg your pardon?" said Balian, looking confused. Was he too tired and hearing Imad wrongly? "What are you talking about?"

"The ladies, they are your wives, no?"

"No!" protested Balian. "They are my friend's wives, I mean, wife and sister..."

Imad frowned. "And what are you doing with your friend's wife and sister, Balian?" he asked. Many Franks had loose morals, but he had not thought that Balian was one of those, even though the Frankish knight had had a not–so-subtle affair with the former queen of Jerusalem.

Andromache decided to speak before the misunderstanding went too far. Balian, she had found, was not a very prolific speaker, being a man of action rather than words. If she let him explain, he would probably make his friend even more confused. "I am a widow," she said "and in Balian's care." It was true enough. Hector wasn't exactly in the world of the living at the moment. "My husband entrusted us to him. He is our protector and friend, nothing more."

"That is much more comprehensible," said Imad. "Trust Balian to make such an honourable thing sound like a scandal."

"I'm tired," protested Balian, grinning.

Imad dismounted. "My ladies, it is only proper that you ride," he said. "We men can walk. Jerusalem is near."

Balian cupped his hands and stood beside the horse so that Andromache and Cassandra could use him as a sort of step to get onto the animal. Imad held Astyanax as Andromache mounted. "A strong boy," he said, handing the baby back to its mother once she was securely seated in the saddle.

"He is like his father," said Andromache proudly, cradling Astyanax lovingly in her arms.

"Speaking of sons and fathers," said Imad "I have something to discuss with you, Balian."

"What is it?" asked Balian. All that was on his mind at the moment was a drink of cool clean water, some food and then maybe a long nap on a soft mattress.

"Sibylla gave birth to a son almost two years ago. She claims he is yours."

* * *

Will was certain that he was in a nightmare. First, the _Black Pearl _had been sucked down into dark watery depths by a whirlpool. Now, she was once again stuck. Instead of a high barren island, this time it was a tiny pond in a quaint little village with tiny cottages and grassy mounds that had windows and doors.

"What the bloody hell is going on?' demanded Jack as he pushed Ragetti and Pintel off him. "Where are we? How did we get here? Why is the rum always gone?"

No, this was worse than Will's most terrible nightmare. He was stuck in a tiny pond on board the _Black Pearl _with Jack Sparrow and no rum...

"Where be my gun?"

...and Barbossa...

"Where's Balian...and Legolas and Andromache? Where's Cassandra? Oh Apollo save us! Where's Astyanax?!"

...without his two most sensible friends to help him deal with this antagonistic rabble of pirates and princes. Will climbed to the crow's nest where he could have a little quiet to help him think. He put his spyglass to his eye. Nothing looked familiar. He could see the faint outlines of snow-covered mountains in the distance. Will hadn't seen such mountains before, apart from in paintings. He hadn't seen much snow before either. As a child in England, he'd lived in a place where there hadn't been much snowing. Usually it was raining.

He pulled himself back to the present. Where were they? By now, the inhabitants of this queer little place were coming out to investigate. They did not seem pleased to see a barnacle encrusted seagoing ship in their pond. And they were small, about half the size of a full grown man. They were advancing on the _Black __Pearl _with miniature pitchforks, shovels, and scythes.

"This don't look good," said Pintel. Beside him, Achilles' hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.

"Wait!" called Will from the crow's nest. "We don't need any bloodshed. These, uh, people have nothing against us. I do not believe us if we explain why we're here."

"So why are we here?" said Paris.

"I have no idea," said Will "but it must be the will of some deity or another."

"Pardon me, whelp, but I don't think they'll buy that," said Jack.

Will climbed down from the crow's nest. The little being in the lead suddenly stopped. His eyes widened in delighted surprise. "Balian?" he said in a high, almost childlike voice.

"Oh, good; he thinks you're Balian," said Jack. "It seems that the nanny is well-known and well-loved."

"I'm not Balian," said Will "but I do know him."

"Oh." The little being's hostile expression was back. "How can we prove that you're Balian's friend?"

"Well, he is a good man..." began Will. "He lost his wife and child, and Legolas calls him Nanny Balian. He hates it."

"You know Legolas too?" said the little being.

"Sure do," said Jack. "Tall skinny fella who glows in the dark? Of course we know 'im."

"You could be their enemies for all I know," challenged the little being.

"I don't think that Master Balian would be lettin' his enemies know that he can't hold his drink," drawled Barbossa.

"And he's always fine despite the fact he isn't," added Paris.

"And wounds always look worse than they feel," finished Will.

"That sounds like Balian," said the little being, smiling as he recalled fond memories. "Well, since you're his friends, you're my friends too. Welcome to the Shire. My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck, and I'm a hobbit. We're all hobbits."

On seeing that their leader had addressed the strangers as friends, the other hobbits lowered their weapons, muttering amongst themselves. They did not trust the Big Folk, especially not ones who appear mysteriously in the communal pond in a big ship with black sails flying a flag which had a skull on it.

Barbossa and Will lowered the gangplank and all of them got off the ship, although Jack lingered at the helm of his beloved _Pearl_.

There were murmurs as the hobbits saw Barbossa's monkey.

"What's that?" said Meriadoc.

"That, Mr. Brandybuck, is a monkey," said Will.

"Just Merry will be fine," said the hobbit. " 'Mr.' Makes me feel old."

"Mary?" said Jack. "That's me mum's name."

Merry scowled. He didn't appreciate being compared to someone's mother. Balian really did have an odd choice of friends. He didn't mind Will, who was civilized, but the other one with black paint around his eyes, he was not so sure about.

"Jack, can you please act like a civilized, mature and sober adult for _once_ in your life?" said Will with an almost pleading tone in his voice.

"I don't like any of those words," said Jack. "Especially not the last adjective." But he kept quiet after that.

The newcomers introduced themselves. Merry thought they were a strange bunch, and he'd seen some pretty strange things in his life, Pippin being one of them. He decided that he liked Will Turner and Jack the monkey. He did not know what to make of Paris, who was perpetually scowling at the big tawny man called Achilles. The hobbit liked the ladies too. None of them could be compared with Lady Éowyn, but they at least did not curse of make obscene gestures. He could ill imagine Balian and Legolas being friends with _Captain_ Jack Sparrow and Barbossa.

Since they were all too big to fit inside a hobbit hole—Frodo's to be precise—Will suggested that all the humans, and the monkey, should sleep on the ship. Merry agreed. It was a good idea and many of Hobbiton's inhabitants were uncomfortable about the Big Folk's presence. Merry knew that they could not stay in the Shire for long. Together with Sam, Frodo, and Pippin, he decided to take them to Gondor. Aragorn would be glad to know that Legolas and Balian were alive, and the High King would definitely know what to do about the newcomers.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's the first chapter. They will all eventually end up in Middle Earth; they just all have some potentially problematic situations to deal with. Reviews please? Hope everyone had a great New Year and holiday season.


	3. Each to His Own Problem

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 2: ****Each to His Own Problem**

Legolas observed the woman from the corner of his eye — he could not turn for she still had the muzzle of her gun against his temple. She was fierce, he could tell, and seemed to have no qualms about blowing someone's brains out. Her pink lips would've been alluring if they had not been pressed in a hard determined line. Altogether, she was too hard and sharp for his taste, like a rose with too many thorns.

"I mean you no harm, lady," he said softly in the most soothing tone he could muster under these circumstances.

"Forgive me if I find it difficult to trust you," she said sarcastically. There was something in her sarcasm that was familiar, but he could not place it. The elf tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The woman reacted immediately, by pushing the muzzle of her pistol further against his head. "Don't move," she said. "If you do, I'll shoot. Tell me who you are."

"I've already told you my name," said Legolas.

"And how do I know it's the truth?"

"You'll have to trust me on that, I'm afraid."

"Who do you work for? Where do you come from? Your accent is not English, nor is it French."

"That's because I am neither English nor French, and glad of it. I'm an elf."

"I hardly believe in fairy stories anymore, Master Legolas."

Legolas was losing his patience. This woman was impossible, and her rude manner irritated him too. She spoke as if she'd been giving orders her entire life. "Whether you believe it or not is your business. I stand by what I said." The elf's tone was curt. "And what do you think these pointed ears are? I am not human."

The woman peered at his ears .That momentary diversion was all that Legolas needed to snatch the gun from her. He threw it aside and grabbed her wrist as she dived to retrieve her weapon. "It is time you answered a couple of questions, my lady," said Legolas. She tried to struggle, but even in his weakened state, he was still stronger than her. She stuck out her chin at him defiantly.

"Who are you?" said Legolas.

"Well, if you must know," she said through clenched teeth "the name's Elizabeth Swann Turner. Mrs. Turner to you."

Elizabeth Swann Turner. Mrs. Turner.

Will Turner.

Legolas let her go in surprise. "Valar!" he breathed. "You're Will's wife!"

Elizabeth, who had been about to dash for her pistol, stopped in her tracks and cocked her head at Legolas. "You know Will?" she asked with a frown.

"Oh, I know him," said Legolas, trying to keep himself from laughing about this absurd coincidence. "Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, sometimes friend of _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, has some sort of history with Hector Barbossa; I know him well. We fought a war together — lost it, but that's beside the point. Will was the one who taught me how to use a gun. Actually, he was the first to explain the idea of a gun to me."

"You know Jack and Barbossa as well?" said Elizabeth, her spirits rising. Perhaps they hadn't gotten into as much trouble as she had thought when they had not appeared for Willie's birthday.

"I do. Barbossa has an undead monkey called Jack, and Barbossa and Jack —the man, that is— are still fighting over the captaincy of the _Black Pearl_."

"So you were telling the truth." Elizabeth was embarrassed now. "I'm so sorry about the misunderstanding, but a woman in my position has to take every precaution. Better safe than sorry."

"I understand," said Legolas. "Will's told me about your situation, and what he didn't tell, Barbossa did."

"The East India Trading Company has resumed the hunt for pirates," said Elizabeth, sitting down tiredly. "The operation is led by a man with a vendetta; Jonathan Beckett. He's Cutler Beckett's younger brother. I am the Pirate King, and I know there is a huge price tag on my head, and on Willie's as well. I've just been so frightened. If they find us..."

"Mrs. Turner..." began Legolas.

"Just Elizabeth will do. Barbossa's the only one who calls me Mrs. Turner."

"Elizabeth," said Legolas. "Will is my friend. That means I will protect all that he holds dear. I swear, I will let them harm neither you nor your son."

"I just don't want to think about what will happen if he comes back after his ten years to find that we are gone," said Elizabeth. The fear brought a lump to her throat, and she desperately wanted to cry, but she had promised that she would be strong for her family.

"I forgot to tell you, Elizabeth, that Calypso has released Will from the _Dutchman_. I think your husband will come for you sooner than you think."

"How is that possible?"

"Deities are volatile at the very best." Bit by bit, Legolas told Elizabeth about their misadventures in Troy.

"I can just imagine how nervous Will was when you and he pretended to be gods," said Elizabeth with a fond smile. "He did hate drawing attention to himself, and he isn't a great liar."

"He's better than Balian at any rate," said Legolas. "Now that is one hopeless liar, and drinker. You'd do better, I think, Elizabeth."

"I out-drank Jack once," said Elizabeth, glad to be able to talk to someone from whom she did not need to hide her past.

"I don't know what to say to that," said Legolas. His expression was unreadable.

* * *

Balian gaped at Imad. "You mean...Sibylla...I...we..." he stammered.

"God works in mysterious ways, Balian," said Imad. His Frankish friend hadn't changed. He was still that awkward blacksmith underneath. "Don't ask me about it."

"Where are they?" Balian demanded. A son. God had finally answered his prayers and given him a child. He thought Abraham must have felt that way when God had given him and Sarah the good news.

"Sibylla's still in Tripoli," said Imad "and therein lies the problem. She is all but imprisoned by Richard."

"Why would Richard imprison her?"

"It's a long story, Balian." Imad sighed and patted his young Frankish friend on the shoulder. "I will tell you as we journey. For certain the ladies are fatigued, even if you aren't, and I'm sure they would like to reach civilisation as soon as possible."

* * *

Sibylla, as it seemed, had refused to relinquish her throne to the newcomer from England. "No son of some Aquitaine harlot shall ever sit upon the throne of Jerusalem," she had said. So Richard had imprisoned her in the hope that she might break and either marry him or abdicate. And then it had been revealed that the queen had been with child; a child who, she had insisted, had been sired by the former baron of Ibelin. Many searches had been launched, seeking the whereabouts of the elusive defender of Jerusalem. There had been many aims for finding Balian. Sibylla, of course, had wanted Balian to act as Prince Regent, king in all but name. Richard's aims had been less than beneficial to Balian.

"That sounds like my Sibylla," said Balian as he listened to Imad's rendition of the story; it was probably the most balanced one he would get. "Headstrong and stubborn." A ghost of a smile graced his tired face.

"So where have you been?" Imad asked him. "We all thought you'd died."

"That's an even longer story, and so confusing that I doubt you'd believe it," said Balian.

"I always believe what you say, Balian," insisted Imad.

"Even if I tell you I met a walking, talking tree who is in fact not a tree but an ent?"

"Well...I..."

"And what about a man who's had his heart cut out and had been doomed to ferry the souls of those who died at sea to the other side, not to mention he could also walk through walls?"

Imad stared at Balian, wondering if his friend had gone mad. Balian smiled wryly. "See?" he said. "I won't even mention the other things that happened."

"I don't know about the walking talking tree," said Andromache "but the man who's had his heart cut out is real."

"You must tell me everything in detail once we get to Jerusalem," said Imad, shaking his head.

They reached Jerusalem the next morning. There were murmurs as people recognized the Christian defender of the city. Balian felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny. "You fame, my friend, stretches from Syria to Egypt and from the Jerusalem to Constantinople to Aquitaine and beyond," Imad told him. "Your name is known to even in the barbaric isle of England, or so I'm told. I'm not certain whether they bless it or spit on it."

"I'm certain it's spoken like a curse in Rome," said Balian.

"Why would they hate you, Balian?" asked Cassandra. "You saved the city, didn't you?"

"I saved the people," said Balian "but to the lords in Europe, I have betrayed my religion and the kingdom, not to mention the Pope in Rome." He glanced up at the confused princess and smiled. "It's exactly like when I committed sacrilege in your father's court by touching that statuette with my bloody hands."

The familiar smell of spices, sweat, offal and dung wafted through the streets. Balian remembered it well, this scent of Jerusalem. It brought him mixed emotions. It had been in this city that he had found love and hate, sin and redemption. It was here, on the hill where Christ had been crucified, that he had let Jocelyn go and accepted her death. It was here that he had lost and found the grace of God.

Jerusalem was the chessboard on which he had begun his own game.

The city filled Andromache with awe. Troy was nothing compared to this. The high walls of Troy, which had seemed so grand and imposing, were mere fences compared to these fortifications. And there were so many people. Andromache had never seen such big crowds in her life. Their dress was strange to her. It was as if they were afraid of showing too much skin. Now that she had glimpsed Balian's world, it did not seem so odd that the man was so shy about his body.

"So this is your city, Balian," said Andromache.

"This isn't my city," said Balian with a smile. He understood how she felt. He had been intimidated when he had first entered those gates all those years ago. "This is Jerusalem. It's everybody's city."

"Actually, according to your religion, it's God's city," corrected Imad.

"And according to your religion, Lord Imad?" asked Cassandra curiously.

"According to Islam, this is the city where the prophet Mohammed first ascended to Heaven on his white horse," replied Imad. He stopped before a very familiar looking house.

"Imad," began Balian, pointing at the house. "This..."

"Yes, Balian, this was your house," said Imad with a smile. "I gave you a horse, so I took your house. You didn't seem to want it at the time. I see you lost the horse."

"In another shipwreck."

"My advice to you: Stay on land."

* * *

Hobbits knew how to enjoy life, Barbossa decided as he washed down the last of the pork roast with a mug of ale. It tasted much better than anything else he'd eaten before. Will was still describing their adventures to Merry and another hobbit called Pippin. He skipped out the part about his heart.

"So when you're at World's End, you just flip the boat and you're back in the normal world," said Merry."

"Only when it's sunset at World's End," said Will.

"So World's End is under our feet," said Pippin with a frown. "When you dig, you just get a hole. You don't go to another world."

Will fumbled around for an answer but he couldn't find one. "It's not quite like that. I don't know how to explain it," he said.

"No one can," said Paris, coming over to join them. "Tell us more about Middle Earth, Masters Merry and Pippin."

They spent the whole afternoon simply talking, eating and drinking. Will somehow felt slightly ill, but he did not mention it to any of the others. Without Balian and Legolas, he was their leader, even though Jack and Barbossa didn't recognize his authority, yet. He finished the little bit of ale left in his mug. Talking so much made him thirsty. It was good ale too.

Merry grinned. "Ale from the Green Dragon," explained the hobbit. "It's the best ale in all of Middle Earth."

"Except for ole Butterbur's," said Pippin "but that's because Gandalf put a charm on it." He poured more into Will's mug. Will downed it in one go.

"Hey, Pip," said Merry. "I think Will might be very good at one of them drinking games."

'Oh right, drinking games,' thought Will as he remembered the aftermath of one of those which had involved Legolas, Achilles, Balian, Bootstrap and three mugs of rum. "Tell me about Minas Tirith," he said hurriedly before Merry and Pippin's plans for a drinking game went too far ahead.

"It's the most beautiful city," said Pippin who was almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "There's seven layers, see, and it's all built out of white stone. Gimli's just made a lovely new gate for it and now that everything's settled, people are doing business on the streets again. Queen Arwen is the most gracious and noble lady..."

"No, Lady Éowyn is the most gracious and noble lady," interjected Merry.

"She is nice, but she's not as gracious and noble as Queen Arwen. Ask Aragorn."

"Aragorn is biased. He married Queen Arwen, remember?"

"We should let Will decide when he meets them." Pippin turned to Will.

"Forgive me, gentlemen," said Will "but no matter how gracious or noble the two ladies may be, the most gracious and noble lady, in my eyes, goes by the name of Elizabeth Swann Turner." The pirate looked dreamy and unfocused. Whenever he thought about Elizabeth, all his discomfort faded away. He could hardly wait until he saw her again.

"That's his sweetheart, ain't it?" said Pippin.

"No, she's his wife," corrected Merry.

"That's right," said Jack, sauntering past. "And she's a charming murderess."

"Jack, Elizabeth is _not_ a murderess," said Will with a scowl.

"Oh yeah? Just like you're not a eunuch, William?"

Pippin looked at Merry. His eyes were as large and round as banquet platters. "Is Will a eunuch?" he asked.

"Of course he isn't, idiot," said Merry. Will was not listening. He was too busy wrestling Jack to the deck. Barbossa raised his —twelfth— mug of ale and cheered. "Cap'n Turner!" he shouted.

Ragetti and Pintel peered at Barbossa and then looked at each other. "Yeah! Go Turner!" they chorused.

"Wait, wait," said Jack. "I yield!" Will stopped pushing him against the wooden deck.

"You do?' said Will, panting. There was a burning pain in his chest, caused by the exertion. Something was not quite right. Usually he could exert himself a lot more without feeling a thing.

"_Not_," said Jack, using the moment's distraction to shove Will away.

"I wonder if we _should_ introduce Jack to Aragorn," Merry whispered to Pippin.

"Why not? I like Jack," said Pippin. "Besides, it'll be interesting."

* * *

Merry climbed up the gangplank of the _Black Pearl. _He'd never seen such a big ship before, and he thought it must have been exciting to go on daring adventures on the high seas, although Will had said they were more misadventures than adventures. Jack had made it sound as if they'd had gotten into even more trouble than the Fellowship of the Ring.

"Good morning...uh...afternoon, Master Mary," said Jack cheerily. He was sitting on the steps with a mug of ale in one hand and a chunk of salted pork in the other. It seemed that Pippin had gotten to the _Pearl_ first. The pirate still had not learnt how to pronounce Merry's name properly.

"Good afternoon, Jack," said Merry. "Where's Will?"

"The whelp's in me cabin," said Jack. "He ain't feelin' too well. Chest wound, y'know. Nasty business, that whole thing with the thump-thump. Of course, if it hadn't been for me, he would've died. In fact, I was jes' tellin' Pip 'bout it, eh?"

Pippin nodded. His mouth was too full.

"Well, now that dear William is released from the _Dutchman_ — should be renamed the _Flying Trojan_ by now, seeing as a Trojan is her captain— he needs his thump-thump back, savvy? So we really need to find a way to get to his bonnie lass and get it back to him, the thump-thump, I mean, although he would like his distressing damsel back, I'd imagine."

"Yeah, poor Will," said Pippin. "He really does look quite ill."

"Sparra's makin' ye think that he's dyin'," drawled Barbossa "but I know Turner. He's tougher than he looks."

"So I can go and see him?" said Merry.

"Aye, but I wouldn't disturb him unless it be absolutely necessary," said the old pirate.

"Well, it is, in a way," said Merry. He didn't want to admit it, but Barbossa frightened him. "I wanted to tell him that we're setting off for Gondor in three days, the lot of us."

"Gondor?" spluttered Jack. "Why? I like the Shire."

"Well, the Shire doesn't like you," said Merry. "No offense, but hobbits don't like Big Folk much."

"Oh, don't worry, Jack," said Pippin. "Gondor's a great place, especially Minas Tirith, and I presume that's where we're going. I daresay they'll even have rum, and it's close to the sea."

Jack's eyes lit up at once. "I love the sea," he said brightly "and rum. Rum's _good_." He stood up and dusted his pants. "Well then mateys," he said, sauntering to the helm. "To Gondor it is then."

"So how far is Gondor?" asked Paris.

"Not too far by horseback. Gandalf once made it in fifteen days, I heard," said Merry. "and this time, we can go by the Gap of Rohan. No more Saruman."

"That's always a bonus," said Pippin, swallowing the last of his salted pork and burping contentedly.

"At least we won't have to go through that Korea...I mean...Moira...I mean..." Jack trailed off, trying to think of the right word and trying out different combinations of syllables which sounded similar.

"Moria?" suggested Pippin.

"That's the one! Moria! At least we won't have to go through Moria!

"And Aragorn is the King of Gondor, isn't he?" asked Achilles.

"Yes," said Pippin proudly. "He's the first king Gondor's had for over a thousand years!"

"A king who fights his own battles, at last," said Achilles softly. The lord of the Myrmidon couldn't wait to meet this king. He would certainly be a sight to behold.

After this unforeseen delay, Merry went to knock on the cabin door, and then turned around. "What's a thump-thump?" he asked quizzically.

* * *

**A/N: **Still an introductory thing, I'm afraid. I hope I didn't bore anyone. Bad guys should appear soon. Reviews please?


	4. Matters of the Heart

Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector, Merry, Pippin...you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Note: **Because people seem to be getting confused as to who is where, I've compiled a list.

_Pirates' world_: Legolas

_Holy Land_: Balian, Cassandra, Astyanax, Andromache

_Middle Earth_: Achilles, Barbossa, Briseis, Helen, Jack, Paris, Pintel, Polyxena (Paris' younger sister), Ragetti, Will

**Chapter 3:**** Matters of the Heart**

Waves lapped the beach and the fronds of the 'palm trees' moved gently in the wind. Legolas had never seen such trees before. They had brown hairy fruits. Elizabeth had called them 'coconuts'. The elf remembered Jack mentioning something about coconuts being useful projectiles. He was on the roof, mending a leak which had developed after a storm. 'How did Elizabeth manage on her own?' he wondered. Will's wife was a strong woman; there was no doubt about that.

"Legolas!" came Willie's voice. The elf glanced up from his work. Will's young son was staring up at him. "Mama says lunch is ready."

Legolas set down his tools and leapt from the roof, landing neatly on his feet. Willie's eyes were wide with awe. "Can you teach me how to do that?" he asked.

"Sorry, little one," said the elf, smiling down at the boy. "It's too dangerous for humans. Your mother would break my neck if anything happened to you. And your father...I don't want to think about what he'd do."

"Is Papa a very scary person?" asked Willie as he walked inside with Legolas. He'd been trying to glean information about his father from the elf ever since Elizabeth had introduced him to their guest.

"Not particularly," said Legolas "but he can be if he wants to be."

"Is he scarier than Uncle Jack-Jack?"

"I wouldn't call Jack scary, Willie. Strange, maybe, but not scary."

"Jack scares me sometimes, with his madness," said Elizabeth as she set the table. "He tried to woo me once."

"That, my lady Elizabeth, is something I could've gone without knowing," said Legolas. He shuddered at the thought of a love-struck Jack Sparrow.

* * *

The night was clear. Legolas settled himself in the branches of a palm tree. The moon cast specks of silver on the glassy water. There was a gun in his belt; a comfortable weight resting against his hip. He'd left his bow and arrows inside the house, but he had his knives.

Splashing reached his ears. It sounded like oars in the sea. He peered out across the ocean. There. A little boat bobbed on the water's surface, being rowed by a round man. The elf drew his pistol from his belt and cocked it. The man in the boat reached the beach. He splashed through the water and began running towards the little cottage where Elizabeth and Willie slept, peacefully unaware of this potential threat. Legolas leapt down from the tree and raced for the cottage. He planted himself in front of the door just as the man reached the porch.

"Who the..." said the man, fumbling for his pistol, but the elf was too quick. In one swift movement, he'd hooked his arm around the man's neck and put his pistol to the man's temple.

"Bastard!" shouted the man. "What've you done to 'er? Mrs. Turner! Elizabeth!"

The front door burst open. Elizabeth stood there in her dressing gown, sword in hand. Her fierce expression became one of confusion. "Mr. Gibbs?" she said, lowering her sword.

"You know him, Elizabeth?" said Legolas.

"Of course she bloody knows me, you son of a whore!" said Gibbs, who was irritated that a stranger was threatening him before the Pirate King.

"Be careful with what you say," warned Legolas "or I'll 'bloody nose' you and more."

"Gentlemen, enough!" said Elizabeth. "Legolas, please let go of Mr. Gibbs. He's harmless. Let me introduce you. Mr. Gibbs, this is Legolas Greenleaf. He's a friend of Will's. Legolas, this is Joshamee Gibbs, formerly Jack's first mate."

"Turner's friend, eh?" said Gibbs eyeing Legolas up and down as the elf released him. "Bit young, aren't you?"

"He's immortal," interjected Elizabeth. Gibbs whipped around to look at her.

"Slap me thrice and hand me to me mama!" he exclaimed. Legolas raised his eyebrow at that. "He's found it! Jack's found the Fountain of Youth!"

"Actually, I was born immortal," said Legolas dryly.

"What brings you here, Mr. Gibbs?" asked Elizabeth. Gibbs face became grim.

"Beckett knows you're here," he said. "He's coming for you."

* * *

Cassandra thought Balian's old house was beautiful. The window frames were exquisitely carved, and there were colourful hangings everywhere. And the rugs...she couldn't even describe how beautiful she found them. There were so many complex patterns, made with exotic dyes. They felt so soft beneath her feet. Camel hair, Imad had told her. The servant girls had dressed her in billowing robes of pastel colours. Her eyes had been lined with kohl. They'd washed and anointed her hair also. For once, she was certain that she looked like a princess.

She sat still and allowed the servant girls to put henna on her hands. What would Balian think when he saw her? Would he be pleasantly surprised?

Andromache came in. Astyanax was asleep in her arms, sucking his thumb. "Are you ready yet, Cassandra?" she asked. "We're waiting for you. The meal is ready."

Cassandra felt her face getting hot. What would they all think of her now? She was late for her first meal in this place. She hurried to her feet and followed Andromache to the dining room. To her surprise, there were no tables or chairs. Instead, Balian and Imad had both settled themselves on embroidered silken cushions with golden tassels hanging from the corners. The food was laid out in bowls in the middle of the rug in the centre of the room. The last rays of sun bathed the room with golden light.

"Ah, the princess is here," said Imad, smiling. "And the little prince is tired from his journey, I see. Balian has been telling me about his adventures. I must say I am still very confused."

"I find them a bit hard to accept myself," said Balian. His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly.

"Maybe we should eat before you launch into yet another complex and broken explanation which will probably make me even more confused," said Imad.

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, Balian lay awake that night. His mind was far away in Tripoli, with Sibylla...and their son. What was his name? What did he look like? He closed his eyes and sighed. They were so close, but a giant obstacle stood between him and them. The obstacle's name was Richard. From Imad, he had learnt that Richard was a prestigious man and a powerful warrior. With his flaming hair and beard, his great stature and his lion insignia, he was a supposedly impressive figure, both on the battlefield and off it. He was he, Balian, a common-born blacksmith, going to contend with this colossus to secure Sibylla's safety and freedom?

The King of England had the support of the Pope and the religious military orders. Balian had the love of the common people and a queen. Richard had an army. Balian had armies who wanted his head for surrendering Jerusalem. Richard had political influence. Balian had immortality. All in all, it seemed that the odds were in Richard's favour.

* * *

Andromache noticed that Cassandra seemed more sullen than usual. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Are you well?"

Astyanax lay sleeping peacefully in a cradle which Imad and Balian had miraculously procured. Cassandra sighed. He would make such a wonderful father, this man whom she loved, and she wanted to be the mother of his children, except someone else had beaten her to it. The princess could not help but be jealous of Balian's former lover. Sibylla did not deserve him. Dared she tell Andromache about her anguish?

"What if," she began slowly "a woman loves a man, but he does not love her back because there is another in his heart?"

"Then that first woman ought to give up," said Andromache. "No good will com of her obsession."

Cassandra decided not to tell Andromache. She would never understand.

* * *

Imad ibn Baybar, being the Spymaster of the Ayyubid dynasty, was not one who lacked information. With Jerusalem under the sultan's control, he now turned his attention to the other cities in the remnants of the crusader state. Tripoli was just one of those cities. Plans of the city's fortification were spread out his desk. He regarded them thoughtfully. There were marks on the plans, showing entrances and exits, and where Sibylla and her son were being kept. Richard was ruthless. He was trying to use the child as leverage against his mother. Nothing much was known about Sibylla's son. The little boy was shrouded in mystery and hidden from the world. Intelligence reports had it that Richard intended to make the child a puppet king if the barons and noblemen refused the make Richard the King of the Crusader state.

'Balian, my friend, you'd never thought that your affair would influence Crusader politics for so long, did you?' he thought. No doubt the stubborn Frankish knight would be determined to rescue his lover and child. Imad knew he had to get ahead and form a plan before the Frank made some heroic charge into Tripoli and got himself killed. The ideal way, of course, was to have Richard release Sibylla and the child, but that would never happen. The child was the key to Richard's success.

That left one other way, and Imad hoped that the not-so-subtle Balian would learn enough subtlety to let his plan work.

* * *

Merry had to admit, Will did look awful. His face was pale and sweaty, and his brow was furrowed with pain. His chest was wrapped in swaths of white bandages, but blood still seeped sluggishly through.

"What happened?" asked the hobbit, full of sincere concern.

"Merry, I guess I owe you an explanation," said Will. He tried to push himself up, but he gasped in pain as he aggravated the deep wound. "I have no heart, literally."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Merry.

"I am a cursed man, doomed to ferry the souls of those who die at sea to the other side. I have told you that before. Do you remember it?"

"Of course," said Merry indignantly. "But what does that have to do with your illness?"

"I didn't always used to be cursed. Not so long ago, I was a normal man, like Jack...well, maybe not like Jack, more like Balian and Paris..." Will told merry about how he'd had his heart cut out and placed in the Dead Man's Chest. "Now that I am no longer the captain of the _Dutchman_, I need my heart back. It is very possible that if I do not get it back soon, I might die."

"So how long do you have?" asked Merry.

"I don't know. The pain comes in bursts. For moments, I feel fine, and then it cripples me." The young pirate closed his eyes. "Calypso has always enjoyed toying with men and tormenting them until they no longer wish to live."

At that, Merry looked alarmed, so Will quickly tried to reassure the hobbit. "Don't worry," he said. "I have no desire to die. Elizabeth will bring me my heart in time, somehow. I have faith in her. Even if Calypso is cruel enough to kill me because she cannot have me to herself, the other gods will not let her do it."

"I hope you're right," said Merry. "Listen, are you well enough to travel? I was planning for us to go to Minas Tirith in three days."

"Don't worry about me, Merry," said Will. "I'll be fine." He lay back down again. The young pirate looked so tired. Merry left him in there to rest.

To his surprise, the Brandybuck found Paris waiting for him outside. The hobbit had only ever spoken to him once or twice. "He tries to hide it," said the Trojan prince "but I know it's bad. Did he tell you anything? He wouldn't tell us."

"He said he might die if he's left without a heart for too long," said Merry.

"I'd come to think of him as invincible," said Paris. "The thought of him dying is too terrible to contemplate. I've already lost one brother. I don't want to lose another." He glared over at where Achilles and Briseis were having a romantic moment.

"You know, you have to forgive him sometime," said Merry. "Your brother isn't dead. He's just..."

"Not living," finished Paris. "My brother was in his prime when Achilles killed him. Hector should be with his wife and child, not ferrying souls."

"At least he'll see them again," said Merry. "Be reasonable. It could've been a lot worse. Will needs you to forget you grudge against Achilles. He's very ill, and he needs all the help he can get to keep the others in order, especially now that my Tookish cousin has become friends with Jack."

Paris nodded. "All right," he said. "For Will's sake, I will try."

* * *

Three days later, a strange company set off for Minas Tirith. Somehow, Merry had managed to procure some horses instead of ponies. Will was glad that he was not being attacked by spasms of pain that morning, so he was actually able to ride. Jack took a lot of persuasion but Pairs finally manage to cajole him onto a horse. "This one ain't gonna let me fall an' then walk off, it it?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm sure she's perfectly trained," said Paris.

"If you think you'll fall, just hold onto the pommel," said Pippin. He demonstrated on his own pony. "See?"

"I really like the footholds," said Achilles, bending down to examine the stirrups.

"Those are stirrups," explained Merry, looking at the warrior strangely. It seemed that Achilles had a lot to learn about horses. He could probably do with a prolonged stay in Rohan.

* * *

**A/N:** And now, to other parts of Middle Earth. And Balian's off to rescue his distressing damsel...I mean, damsel in distress...either or. Sorry, it's before breakfast. Hunger makes me do strange things.


	5. The Beginning of Trouble

**Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin...you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 4:**** The Beginning of Trouble**

Elizabeth dug around in her pantry and finally found what she was looking for; a bottle of rum to go with Gibbs' hastily put together meal. Upstairs, Willie was still sound asleep. She'd had Legolas check on him.

As the old rotund pirate wolfed down his food, he recounted the situation to Elizabeth and her elven guest. "Jonathan Beckett has taken over the other Beckett's place in the East India Trading company," said Gibbs before taking a greedy gulp of rum. "Rumour has it he's even more ruthless than his brother, if that's even possible." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "They caught poor ole Cotton and hanged him, even though he ain't never harmed nobody."

"We must leave, then, Elizabeth," said Legolas. "If that man knows where you and Willie are, there's no doubt as to what will happen to you both if he finds you."

"But Will..." began Elizabeth, and then she remembered. "I'll go get the Chest," she said. "Legolas, you wake Willie and get him ready. Mr. Gibbs, pack everything that we might need." She thought for a moment. "Actually, Mr. Gibbs, you go and get Willie ready. Legolas, you come with me."

The elf followed her down to the cellar. She tried out several floorboards before removing one. Below was a space, and Legolas' keen ears caught the faint sound of a beating heart. Elizabeth hoisted up the chest by its handles and then shoved it into Legolas' arms. "Hold this carefully," she said, and then she proceeded to pull out guns from the hole in the floor, piling them on top of the chest. She picked up an armful of guns herself, as well as a few strange round things which looked like diminished versions of Balian's catapult missiles with strings hanging out of them.

They went back up, and dumped the weapons onto the dining table. Willie was already up and dressed, with a leather pack on his back containing his most precious belongings. His hat, of course, was on his head. He was never without it.

"Blimey, Miss Elizabeth!" said Gibbs. His eyes were as round as cannon balls. "You've got a whole bloody arsenal here!"

"There's more, on the ship," said Elizabeth, grabbing her sword off the mantelpiece and going upstairs to change into more practical fighting clothes. Willie's mouth opened and he stared at his mother. She was behaving more or less the same as Captain Barbossa. He'd never seen so many guns in his life.

Elizabeth came down dressed in trousers, shirt and boots. She even had a tri-corner hat and a long leather coat was slung over her arm.

"Right," she said. "Who wants what?"

Legolas chose eight fine pistols and strapped them to his belt. He still had his bow and quiver, as well as his numerous knives.

Elizabeth somehow managed to hide what Legolas considered to be half the arsenal all over her body. He even caught sight of her tucking on enormous gun up her back. She had two belts criss-crossing on her front, and on that alone there were eight pistols. There were eight more on the belt at her waist, and two in her boots. Over that, she put a vest, hiding all the weapons, and then she covered everything that was peeking out with her coat. There were numerous spacious pockets in her coat where she put extra shots, powder, as well as those miniature catapult missiles.

Not to be outdone, the elf put two more pistols on the strap which tied his quiver to his back.

While his mother was too busy arming herself to watch him, Willie sneaked two small pistols off the table and hid them in the band of his trousers, under his jacket.

When they were finished, Elizabeth looked unarmed except for her sword, and Legolas resembled a walking weapons' store.

"How do you do that?" he asked. Will's wife seemed to be full of hidden and impressive skills, some of them not at all becoming of a woman of the aristocracy.

"Practice," she said "and a really big coat." She regarded Legolas for a moment. "Wait a minute," she said, going back upstairs. She opened a large dusty coffer which had not been touched for many a year. Inside were a few shirts, and another long weather-beaten leather coat. She lifted the coat out of the coffer and smoothed her hand over its surface. It was Will's. She smiled a little smile and then went downstairs.

"Here," she said, handing Legolas the coat. "This is Will's, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind you borrowing it. I think it will do the trick."

"Thank you," said Legolas. The coat did cover up his weapons, but it also meant he had to hold his quiver in his hand. After some more fiddling, they managed to fit the quiver over the coat.

"You look like a monster-hunter," said Gibbs.

"You need a hat," said Willie. "Your hair looks odd with that coat."

"Will didn't have any hats," said Elizabeth. She thought for a while. "But my father did have a lot of them."

Moments later, Legolas couldn't recognize himself. 'Balian would wet himself laughing if he saw me now,' he thought. He grabbed the supplies and followed Elizabeth. In the end, he'd added one of Will's swords to his collection of weapons. They went down a steep narrow track going down the side of the cliff, which eventually led them to a hidden cove where Elizabeth kept a decent-sized boat in a partially submerged cave. She got on first, and the others handed her the cargo.

Legolas lifted Willie into the boat before lightly leaping in himself. Gibbs was the last to get in. For some reason, the old sailor seemed nervous.

Gibbs might have been older and more experienced, but it was Elizabeth who gave the orders. "There ain't never been a better natural sailor than our Miss Elizabeth," said the rotund pirate when Legolas asked him about it. "Aye, she was born with the sea in her blood."

* * *

"Balian," said Imad. "I have a plan." He pushed the map of Tripoli's fortifications towards his Frankish friend. "You will see I have marked out all the important locations, including where Richard is keeping Sibylla and the child. They are heavily guarded, but that works well for us."

"Why?" asked Balian with a frown. He would've thought that more guards meant more trouble.

"It means you can pretend to be one of them, and no one would be able to tell the difference," said Imad smugly. He grinned when he saw the expression on Balian's face as understanding dawned on him. "Surely you were not intending to charge in as yourself?"

"No...well...yes," said Balian, reprimanding himself for his stupidity. Hadn't he used exactly the same plan when they had rescued Paris and Cassandra from the Greeks?

"It's not a problem getting in," said Imad. "It's getting out."

* * *

The day was clear when Balian and Imad set out for Tripoli. Cassandra watched from the doorway as Balian checked the girth of the saddle and made certain that the horse's shoes were secure. She didn't want him to go and save Sibylla. It sounded so dangerous, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. The princess stepped out into the sunlight and took a deep breath. 'Gods, grant me courage,' she prayed. "Balian," she called. "May I have a private word with you?"

Both Balian and Imad looked up. "I must go and leave some more instructions with my steward," said Imad quickly. He walked back into the house, leaving Balian and Cassandra alone in the courtyard. The man inwardly cursed. Why did Imad have to be so 'proper'? He was awfully uncomfortable as Cassandra approached him.

"You don't have to go, Balian," said Cassandra. "You know you don't. Lord Imad is the Spymaster. He has many men under him whom he could send.

"It would be unfair to send anyone else," said Balian. "This is my burden to bear. What man would I be if I cannot even save my own child and ...lover?

"I don't want you to go. I can't lose you."

"Cassandra..."

The princess stepped right up to him so that her body was only inches away from his. He could feel the heat of her passion. It shone bright in her eyes. "Balian, I love you," said Cassandra. "I never wish to be parted from you. I will bear your sons and daughters. I will make you the happiest man alive."

Balian looked away. His heart hammered in his chest. He had been expecting to hear this for a while, but nevertheless, her overt words shocked him. He knew that if he tried to speak now, his lips and tongue would refuse to form words. 'Calm down,' he told himself. He took a few deep breaths and tried to soothe his rapid heartbeat. When he deemed he was calm enough, he looked back at Cassandra and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.

"Cassandra," he began. "I am honoured, and grateful for your affections. I must admit that I have been aware of your feelings for some time now." He took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to get this part wrong. "Cassandra...I am fond of you; I truly am. I know what it is that you ask of me but I cannot give you what you seek. My heart already belongs to another."

The words came out with more finality than he had expected. Cassandra stiffened as if he'd slapped her. "But Balian, I love you," she said in a small voice.

"You are young, Cassandra," said Balian. "I wish you joy and I know you'll find it, but not in me. Heavens, Cassandra! You're fifteen and I'm almost thirty-one, more than twice your age! It's just not right. Besides, I love Sibylla. I have never stopped loving her."

"She doesn't deserve you!" said Cassandra in frustration. Why could he not see that? Was the man really so blind in love? The difference in their ages had never presented itself as a problem to her. What did age matter if it was truly love? "Balian, she abandoned you for her throne! She really doesn't deserve you!"

"Jealousy is unbecoming, Cassandra," said Balian. "That is one thing that I cannot love." His voice was cold and courteous, and he seemed to be looking through her instead of at her. Suddenly, everything fell into place. Images of her time at the Greek camp flashed before her eyes. He thought her unworthy, and maybe even mad, as everyone else did. She could not contain herself. Her hand shot out and her palm impacted with his cheek, making his head snap to the side.

"You think I'm not good enough for you, don't you, Balian of Ibelin, lover to a queen?" she demanded, even though deep down, her subconscious self knew that this was not how Balian felt. He was an honourable man. "You've had a queen and now you won't have anything less than a queen!" Balian did not say anything. That only served to fuel her anger. He wasn't even responding to her. It was obvious that he did not care at all. "I hate you, Balian," she spat. "I wish Calchas had killed you. I wish I'd never met you!"

"Cassandra!" came Andromache's sharp and reprimanding voice. She'd come to see the men off, only to see Cassandra slap Balian. The princess paid no heed to her. She pushed past the older woman. Tears blurred her vision. She simply ran. Anywhere far from the man who'd broken her heart was good enough for her.

Balian was about to follow Cassandra, but he decided against it. He was probably the last person she'd want to see at the moment.

"She probably doesn't mean it, foolish girl," said Andromache. "She's very emotional."

"Andromache," said Balian "will you tell her for me that I'm sorry?"

"I definitely will not," said Andromache. "If there's anyone who should be apologizing, it's Cassandra. You have done nothing wrong."

"Are you ready yet?' asked Imad, returning to the courtyard. He'd seen and heard everything from a window upstairs. "Balian, you've got a red handprint on your face. I know it's none of my business and I won't make you tell me anything you don't want me to know, but it will be strange if you go out looking like that, so maybe we can wait until it fades."

"No, we should leave now," said Balian. "I'll cover it with a scarf." He turned to Andromache. "Farewell," he said. "I won't be gone for long, I hope. Look after yourself and Astyanax, and Cassandra."

Andromache hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care," she said. "We'll miss you, and Astyanax will miss the games you play with him."

As they rode out, Imad glanced at Balian with pity. One woman was hard enough to deal with. Balian had two.

* * *

Every now and then, Jack glanced back at Will. The young man's face was ashen as he fought the pain of his otherworldly illness. Not once did the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ complain. Usually it was Jack or Paris who suggested that they stop for rests. They usually made lame excuses for these breaks. If the real reason was revealed, Will's pride would make him insist that they go on.

Middle Earth was a wondrous place. Achilles had never seen so much green. When their adventures were all over, he decided that he and Briseis would settle and raise their children here, perhaps in the country of the king who fought his own battles.

Paris had never thought that Legolas' world would be so beautiful, and yet, sad. The elf had said that his people were leaving Middle Earth, never to return. The prince was certain that without elves, the power and majesty of Middle Earth would fade and dim. All the wondrous stories of heroes and battles would be lost along with the elves, for there would be no one left to remember them. Despite being a stranger here, he felt as if he belonged. Every note of birdsong touched his heart. In Troy, he'd always felt isolated. He'd never been the ideal Trojan prince, as Hector had been. Because of that, he'd often been overlooked, even though he was loved. Here, it didn't seem to matter if he wasn't a brave and noble warrior.

During their time in the Shire, Merry's cousin Frodo had shown them a heavy read book which he'd helped to write. Paris hadn't been able to read it, for it had been written in something that looked like a corrupted form of Greek. So Frodo's gardener Sam had read it to them. It had been sthen that Paris had realized that the greatest heroes in Middle Earth had not been noble warrior, but humble little hobbits called Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee.

* * *

They reached Bree in three days. The sleepy little town had not changed. The _Prancing Pony_ was more popular than ever, now that the High King himself had endorsed it. "This is where we first met Longshanks...uh...I mean, Aragorn," explained Pippin as they filed into the inn.

"Good evening and welcome!' cried a jolly fat man with a ruddy face and balding head. "If you're looking for lodging, we've got both hobbit and man sized rooms available..."

"Hullo, Mr. Butterbur," said Pippin cheerfully.

Butterbur frowned for a while, and then his eyes widened in recognition. "Mr. Took!" he said. "Bless me! I almost didn't recognize you there, with all yer fine friends."

Jack stood a little straighter and tried to look indifferent, although the effect was that he looked like a cockerel that had just finished preening.

"And Mr. Brandybuck is here as well!" continued Butterbur.

"We were missin' your fine ale," said Merry with a grin.

"And where's your cousin, Mr. Underhill?"

"It's Baggins, actually," said Pippin.

"Ah, yes, Baggins. 'Scuse my memory. I'm getting on in my years."

"We're going to need rooms for seven men, three women, two hobbits and a...uh...monkey," said Merry.

"Hmm," said Butterbur. He thought for a moment. "We have four rooms available. Will that do?"

Merry did some quick calculations. The ladies could have one room. Jack and Barbossa needed to be separate, as did Paris and Achilles. If Paris, Will and Jack took one room, Barbossa, Furry Jack —the monkey— and Achilles took another, it would leave Pintel and Ragetti to share a room with the two hobbits. They could live with that.

"Four rooms will be fine, thank you," said Merry.

"So who's sharing with who?" asked Jack as they followed Butterbur to their rooms.

"Don't worry, I've worked it all out," said Merry. "Jack, you're with Will and Paris. The ladies get one room. Achilles is with Barbossa and Furry Jack. Rag and Pin are with Pip and me."

"That sounds all right," said Paris "as long as Jack isn't drunk."

"When is he ever sober?" said Barbossa, raising an eyebrow.

"I says we share a room wif the ladies," whispered Ragetti suggestively to Pintel. Pintel cackled. Unfortunately, they were overheard by Achilles and Paris. The lord of the Myrmidon flexed his hands menacingly and glared at the two pirates, while Paris seemed ready to strangle anyone who dared to touch his Helen, his sister, or his cousin. Ragetti and Pintel shrank back.

"Eunuchy, snip snip," said Jack. Will gave him a weary look. He was tired, ill and hurting, and in no mood for more bad eunuch jokes. Jack immediately swallowed the joke that he'd been about to tell. It was about Will, of course, but the whelp seemed to need some decent rest.

* * *

"You all right, whelp?" asked Jack once they were all settled in their rooms. "You're not going to die on good ole Jack, are you?"

"I'm fine, Jack," said Will, surprised by the pirate's genuine concern.

"Will, if you're fine, then I'm a great warrior," said Paris. "You should lie down. We'll have the evening meal brought up."

* * *

Meanwhile, Barbossa and Achilles were downstairs, sitting in a corner and listening to everything that was going on. What they heard disturbed them. The men were talking about a new power rising in the east, strong enough to challenge Gondor's sovereignty. It seemed that they'd arrived just in time for another war.

* * *

**A/N:** The action ought to begin soon. This chapter's long to make up for the short chapter last week. I'd miscalculated.

_R.I.P. Heath Ledger_


	6. One Step Closer

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 5:**** One Step Closer**

Willie pulled out his spyglass and put it to his eye, feeling very important. The spyglass had been a gift from the Captain. Barbossa had also promised him a pistol and a sword. When Elizabeth had frowned and said that Willie was too little to play with such dangerous things, the old pirate had given the boy a conspiratorial wink. Willie knew he would be getting his pistol and sword whether his mother liked it or not.

"Do you see anything interesting?" asked Legolas.

"Nope," said Willie. "Is that good or bad?"

"It can meant two things," said the elf. "One; no one's found us yet, which is a good thing. Two; we're lost, which isn't so good." He shielded his eyes with his hand and peered out across the ocean. Was that land in the distance? He couldn't be sure. It was so far away.

"The Cap'n said that if you get lost, you can go to World's End, which is where my Papa is," said Willie.

"He _was_ there," said Legolas "but he's not there anymore. You see, I think he's coming to look for you."

"Do you think he'll find us?" asked Willie.

"Of course he will," said Legolas, ruffling the boy's hair. "He's Captain Will Turner. That has to mean something. So, where are we going?"

"Tortuga," said Willie, brightening up. He grinned. "Uncle Jack-Jack's told me all about it. He said that if every place in the world was like Tortuga, no man would ever be lonely. He was about to say more, but Mama got mad at him and he had to keep quiet. I tried to get the Cap'n to tell me more, but he said there were things that little boys weren't supposed to know about."

"You know what, Willie?" said Legolas. "I think I agree with Barbossa. But I guess you'll find out anyway, once we get there." Whatever awaited them there, the elf suspected that he was in for a rather not-so-educational lesson.

* * *

Tortuga could be smelled before it could be heard or seen. Legolas tried to find some reprieve from the stench. Jack had made it sound like Heaven. Of course the elf had suspected long before that Tortuga was nothing like Balian's Paradise, but the resemblance to Hell was uncanny.

Drunken men lay in their own filth —or someone else's— at the sides, and in the middle, of the road. Women of ill-repute lifted their petticoats in full view of the public, to the cheers of the drunken men who were still lucid enough to appreciate the lewdness of the spectacle. Elizabeth quickly steered Willie away.

"Ain't seen nuthin' like this before, 'ave ya?" asked Gibbs gleefully, clapping Legolas on the shoulder. Inside, he was not feeling half as gleeful as he sounded. Tortuga was no longer the Tortuga of Jack's memories. Something else had come here, tainting its pure pirate-ness. Legolas mutely shook his head. Men were such a diverse lot.

"Tortuga was established two hundred years ago by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew —they're the same fellas who set forth the Pirates' Code— and it hasn't changed to this day," continued Gibbs. "Now, with the Empire takin' over everythin', Tortuga remains the last free port, a haven for every mother's son who calls hisself a pirate. Any questions?"

"Yes," said Legolas, who'd recovered somewhat by now. "When are we leaving?"

Gibbs seemed to be at a loss for words. He turned to Elizabeth, who smile apologetically at Legolas. "I...uh...thought it best if we stayed for a while," she said. "As Mr. Gibbs said, this is a safe haven for pirates."

A drunk sailor, who'd had a bottle broken on his head, fell into the muck at their feet. Gunshots rang out, and nearby, a fight had broken out, and men were trying to stab each other.

Legolas arched an eyebrow. "Safe?" he said.

"It's shelter for us," said Elizabeth defensively.

The elf snorted. "If this is shelter, then one wall and no roof make a house," he said, quoting Sam.

"You exaggerate, Master Legolas," said Elizabeth. "Tortuga is actually very safe, if you know what to do. Just keep a weather eye open for fellows with debatable trustworthiness."

"That's everyone here," muttered Legolas as he followed Will's wife into a rowdy tavern, where all the patrons were drunk and fighting.

"The _Two Hornpipes_," said Gibbs. "The best tavern in all the Caribbean." He looked down at Willie. "It's here that I first met your Pa. Oh, he was an awkward kid. He stood out from a mile off, did young Will Turner. I had trouble believin' he was ole Bootstrap's boy." He smiled as he remembered those days. "Ne'er would've thought he'd turn out to be the captain of the _Dutchman_, but that's a Turner for you. He always does the thing that you least expect him to do."

Willie took in everything around him with fascination. His father had been here. He was following his father's footsteps. A thought suddenly came to him. "Did Cap'n Barbossa and Uncle Jack-Jack come here too?"

"Aye!" said Gibbs. He loved telling stories, whether they were true or false. "'Twas Jack who first brought your Pa here, an' ole Jack loved the _Two Hornpipes _—said they had the best rum and salty wenches. Dunno 'bout Barbossa though. He and I were never that close, considering what he'd done to Jack an' ole Bootstrap.

"Mama, what are salty wenches?" Willie asked.

"William James Turner!" said Elizabeth, aghast at what her son was saying. She only heard the last two words over the din. "Wash your mouth out! I will not have not have you using such language!"

"But..."

"No buts. When you're as old as Barbossa, you can speak as you please, but for now, you listen to me young man."

Willie was utterly confused. It had been a simple question. Why was his mother so angry? He knew that it was best not to aggravate his mother further when she was in such a mood. She could be scarier than Captain Barbossa and his Uncle Jack-Jack when she wanted to be. 'No wonder they made her Pirate King,' he thought.

* * *

Tripoli was a city much like Jerusalem, save for the much smaller number of pilgrims. Flying from the ramparts were Richard's standards; a rearing golden lion on a red background. They reminded everyone in the city about who was in charge. As per the plan, Imad set up a spice stall. Balian went to investigate, putting aside his honour to venture into all sorts of places, even a house of ill-repute. God must have been smiling down on him because there, he became acquainted with one of Sibylla's guards, a man of loose morals, coincidentally called Jacques. Through drunken banter — acting on Balian's part — the blacksmith discovered the Jacques was a Norman whose family was in England. Jacques was a younger son, and was rather bitter about the fact that he did not inherit the family estate when his father died. Balian bought him drinks and coaxed more information out of him.

Already, a plan was forming in Balian's mind. It just seemed a little too dishonourable. Then again, if he was to save Sibylla and their son, he might just have to sacrifice honour, just this once.

* * *

In another part of the palace, a tall man with flaming red hair and a closely cropped ginger beard stretched himself out lazily on a couch. Richard, called Coeur de Lion, the king of England, sipped from a cup of cider with honey and cinnamon. The elusive defender of Jerusalem had been sighted, and in Tripoli of all places, in the company of a Saracen merchant. "No doubt he has come for his lover," said Richard. "Men like this Balian are loyal and steadfast to the point of folly."

"If you can get him on your side, Sire, he would be very useful," said Gerard de Ridefort, Grand Master of the Templars.

"Indeed, he would be. At the moment he is an arrowhead in my side. Keep an eye on him, my lord of Ridefort. I want to know his every move."

* * *

The next time he met with Jacques, Balian was ready with a little package of inconspicuous powder. It was a powerful drug which induced sleep, Imad had told him. When Jacques was too busy ogling a woman in a scanty tight dress to pay attention to Balian, he slipped the powder into Jacques' drink. When Jacques succumbed to the drug, Balian half-dragged, half-carried him through the backstreets and alleyways to the house which Imad was renting. In the dim light, they looked like two drunks.

The unfortunate guard was bound, gagged and hidden, while Balian put on Jacques' clothes. Now the only thing that would give him away was his sword. He'd done that on purpose. It was to allow Sibylla to recognize him.

He waited for the next shift of guards to go into the palace, and easily blended in. The helmet was very good at hiding men's faces. Now he was inside the palace. It was nothing compared to the one in Jerusalem. It was much darker and shabbier, and it even smelt stale. He situated himself close to the inner chambers. Soon, he glimpsed Sibylla for the first time in almost three years. How she'd changed. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her skin was sallow. Her cheeks were gaunt and sunken with worry. She was even frailer than she'd been before, if that was even possible. Behind her was a serving girl who held a small dark-haired child in her arms. The sight of the child brought a lump to Balian's throat. Tears prickled the back of his eyes. There was no mistaking it. This was his son. His eyes were blue like his mother's but everything else, from his dark curls to his bone structure, resembled Balian.

He bowed to the deposed queen. "Any orders from my lord Richard?" Sibylla asked sarcastically.

"The same as always, my lady," replied Balian, trying to keep his voice neutral. He found it very difficult.

"Is that right?" she said. She still hadn't recognized him. Fighting to keep his face indifferent, he discreetly touched the hilt of his sword, turning it a little so that she might see the ruby in the hilt and recognize him. The light reflecting off the polished metal caught her attention. She turned her eyes to the hilt of the sword, and her eyes stayed there, as if she was unable to believe what she was seeing. And then her gaze travelled upwards, to the face of the man who owned the sword. Balian put a gloved finger to his lips.

Sibylla began to rub her finger where there used to be a ring; the ring that she had bought on the day she had first seen Balian. She'd later given it to him as a token of her love. If this man truly was Balian, he would know the meaning of her gesture. The man looked around. Seeing that no one was paying any attention, he reached up to his neck and pulled out a small ring on a chain.

Sibylla quickly covered her mouth with her hand to keep herself from crying out with joy. She swallowed rapidly, and she could see tears shining in Balian's eyes, as they were probably in her own. Her knight, despite everything including abandonment and his supposed death by drowning, was here to save her, their son; his family.

Her little boy started fussing. Sibylla hurriedly took him from her maid Youmna. Barisian was a sickly child, and small for his age. She blamed it on Richard, for she was so certain that if she and her son were not forever trapped in this place, he would be a much healthier little boy. "Barisian," she murmured. "It's all right. Everything will be fine, just fine, _mon__ petit __bonhomme_."

And that was how Balian learnt his son's name.

* * *

"So he has infiltrated into the midst of my soldiers," mused Richard when Ridefort's spy reported back to him. "How very efficient. You can't help but admire that man's determination. Why, he behaves as if he is a knight in a tale."

"Sire, I believe he will try and steal the queen out," said Ridefort.

"Well, we can't let him succeed, can we? What worries me the most are Sibylla's visits to the Cathedral each Sunday. If Ibelin wants to steal her out, that is the best time to do it."

Richard smiled, fingering his sword. He relished in the feel of its weight, and the elation as it cut through his enemies. "In fact, Gerard, I would very much like to meet this Balian of Ibelin. He sounds like quite a character. I wonder if he really as impressive as they say, or if he will, like everyone else, fall to my sword."

* * *

Grass. In all his travels, Jack had never seen so much grass. The stuff grew everywhere in Middle Earth. If it wasn't grass then it was trees. Or bushes. Greenery. Unfortunately, one could not make rum out of such things.

"We'll be at Rivendell soon," said Merry. Will looked even worse. The pain had prevented him from resting properly, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. His skin gleamed dully with cold sweat. "A pity Lord Elrond has left for Valinor, He would've been able to help."

"You jes hang in there, Whelp," said Jack quietly to Will. "We'll get you to this Ara-something-rather-what's-his-name. Pippin talks about him as if he's the god of healing."

Will nodded, touched by Jack's concern. He'd always known that the pirate cared, but very rarely did Jack show it. "You think very highly of Pippin, don't you?" he asked.

"Little hobbit has good judgement," said Jack with a shrug. "Better than yours anyway. Now, you hold on for the Whelplet and your charming murderess."

"Jack, my son and wife have names," said Will with a wan smile.

"Whatever," said Jack, rolling his eyes.

Merry led them into a lush valley. As they travelled further into it, the air seemed to become more wholesome. It refreshed them and even Will's tight features relaxed. "The magic of elves," whispered Paris to no one in particular. He could feel it in his bones, like some nameless tune resonating through his entire being.

The light mellowed so that everything seemed golden. "It's so beautiful," breathed Helen in awe.

"This place is sacred," said Briseis. "I can feel it. The gods live here."

"I don't know about your gods," said Merry "but elves live here."

"And my dear, by saying that the gods live here, you are implying that Legolas is a god," said Achilles playfully. Briseis leaned over and slapped him on the arm.

Elrond's house came into sight, a haven nestled close against protective mountains. A waterfall cascaded down into the river below, sending up a fine spray of water droplets which sparkled like a thousand diamonds. The light refracting through the water created a rainbow.

"This must be as beautiful as the top of Mount Olympus," said Briseis.

"Nay," said Paris. "I think this surpasses even Zeus' palace. I for one have decided that I like elves more than I like the gods."

"That is _hubris_, Paris. The gods will punish you."

"As if they care. Legolas has done more for us than the gods have done in hundreds of years, dear cousin. It was not Apollo who saved me but one elf and a lot of men."

"Well, it's an eye opener. There's no mistaking that," drawled Barbossa. Jack the monkey chirped in agreement.

"I wonder where they keep the shiny things?" whispered Pintel to Ragetti.

An elven sentry stepped into their path, with his bow drawn. "Who goes there?" he asked. "What is your business in Imladris?" Merry knew that there were many more elves remaining hidden, with their arrows trained on the strangers.

"My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck," he began. "I am..."

"A hero of the War," someone else finished for him. The speaker had a decidedly elvish accent. "Welcome back to Rivendell, Merry, Pippin."

"Hullo, Lord Elladan," said Pippin brightly.

"Actually, it's Elrohir," said the dark-haired elf.

"Sorry," said Pippin. "My bad."

"No offence taken, Master Took," said Elrohir. "Who are all these people?"

"These are Legolas and Balian's friends," said Merry. "You have heard of Balian, haven't you?"

"I have, and his name is all I know," said Elrohir. "That, and the story of him head butting an orc with a helmet. Legolas...I know him, all right. Partners in crime, we were. He is always befriending people of every denomination, so I really should have ceased being surprised a long time ago. King Thranduil was incensed when he heard that Legolas had named the dwarf Gimli elf-friend."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Jack. "That's very nice and all but the Whelp here needs medical attention, savvy?"

Elrohir looked at Jack, and his expression became rather strained —one of incredulity, curiosity and utter confusion. He raised his eyebrow as regally as he could. Somehow, he'd never managed to perfect that motion the way Legolas had done. This rude outlandish stranger had the oddest looking array of clothes he'd ever seen. Was it tribal war paint around his eyes? Elrohir would've liked to say that he was a haradrim, but he didn't exactly resemble a haradrim anymore than he resembled a Numenorean.

"Erm..." began Merry "this is Jack..."

"_Captain_!"

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow. This here is Captain Barbossa, and Captain Will Turner." One by one, Merry introduced the strangers until Elrohir's head was reeling with long foreign names. He welcomed them dutifully, wondering how his father would've reacted. He could only gape at Will Turner and the one called Paris, for they looked the way Legolas would if the prince of Greenwood the Great had been dunked in brown dye.

"Your house is beautiful, Lord Elrohir," said Paris, bowing formally as only a prince knew how. Merry heaved an inner sigh of relief. At least _one _person knew how to behave appropriately in such situations. "On behalf of my companions, I thank you for your hospitality."

"You look so much like Legolas, it's unnatural," Elrohir blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Surprising isn't it?" said Pippin. "Maybe we should explain, but later though. I'm starving."

"The kitchens are at your disposal, Master Took," said Elrohir. He thanked the Valar that Rivendell was well-stocked enough to last through a three month siege. At this rate, he wouldn't have to worry about running out of food for at least four weeks.

* * *

**A/N: **So at last we meet Richard. Paris, Will and company meet some more elves other than Legolas. Legolas in Tortuga... What a mess (grins) Reviews please?


	7. Betrayal, Scheming and Ambushes

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 6:**** Betrayal, Scheming and Ambushes. **

Gibbs was feeling uncomfortable, for the first time, in Tortuga. He'd lied to the 'elf'. Tortuga was no longer a haven for pirates. Unknown to Elizabeth, the East India Trading Company had ships anchored just off-shore. They had been there for a while now, awaiting his signal. Jack's former first mate sighed. It wasn't as if he'd chosen to betray Elizabeth and Willie Turner. Jonathan Beckett had left him with no choice. It was either Elizabeth, or Marty and Anamaria. Willie was out of the equation, since Beckett didn't know about the child. Thank the deities for small mercies.

He paid for the fireworks.

* * *

The noise of the _Two Hornpipes _was giving Legolas a headache. Never in his long life had he seen or heard such rowdiness. Secretly, he was grateful that Balian was not here, even though he might just be useful. The uptight man would've had a seizure if he could see such immorality. Elizabeth was asking about the availability of rooms. Willie stayed close to Legolas. "Blimey, I ain't never seen anythin' like this," he said in awe, forgetting all the grammar lessons that Elizabeth had given him in the hopes that he would not grow up sounding like Jack Sparrow or Hector Barbossa.

"I _have never_ seen anything like this," corrected Legolas. "Double negatives cancel each other out, and 'ain't' is not a word. Your father would have a fit if he heard you talking like Jack." Personally, Legolas had no idea if Will cared about grammatical correctness at all, but incorrect usage of language irked the elf. Besides, it was probably a good idea to teach the boy how to talk properly.

"Oh, shut it, will you?" said Willie absently, sounding like a shrunken version of Jack Sparrow.

Elizabeth whipped around. "William James Turner!" she said. "Apologize at once! Your father would be ashamed of you!" She turned to Legolas. "By the bloody locker, I think Jack and Barbossa have been influencing him too much."

Legolas felt inclined to agree. "I think he needs a proper fatherly presence, that's all."

"Don't I know it," said Elizabeth, rolling her eyes. She took Willie's hand. "Come on, Mister. Let's get you to bed. It is far too late for little men to be up. I managed to get us a room with three beds. Someone will have to share, or sleep on the floor, I'm afraid."

"You could share with Legolas, Mama," suggested Willie innocently.

"Willie!" said both adults, aghast.

"What? Adults sleep in the same bed, don't they? And Mr. Gibbs is too old and fat to share with anyone."

"Willie, I think you've done quite enough talking for one day," said Elizabeth. Her face was abnormally flushed. Legolas' was the same.

* * *

The sound of screams and gunshots woke Elizabeth. She sat up, her hand flying to the handle of her sword. With her other hand, she fumbled for her gun. "What's happening?" she demanded.

"I'm not sure," said Legolas. He seemed to glow in the darkness, although that could be attributed to the orange of the fires outside. "But, Elizabeth, I must say that Tortuga doesn't seem to be the safe haven you thought it was. We're under attack."

Elizabeth peered out the window. "Redcoats," she said, in the same tone that Legolas would use to declare the presence of orcs. "Beckett's here. Get Willie and Mr. Gibbs. We're leaving." She hoisted the Dead Man's Chest into her arms.

Legolas quickly shook Willie awake. "Stay close to me," he told Will's wife and son.

"Where's Mr. Gibbs?" asked Willie. Just then, the door burst open.

"She's here!" shouted Gibbs. Redcoats poured into the room, surrounding the trio. At their lead was a man who just reached Legolas' chin, although his pompous air belonged to someone of a much greater stature.

"Miss Swann," he said in a falsely genial tone. "At last, we meet. I have heard so much about you."

Instinctively, Legolas put himself in front of Elizabeth and Willie.

"Who on earth are you?" demanded the short man with a frown.

"No one," said Elizabeth. "He's a distant cousin of my aunt's nephew, twice removed. He and his son are just visiting." She touched Willie deliberately on the shoulder.

Legolas glanced at back Elizabeth with alarm. What was she playing at? He saw the desperation in her eyes, and he knew that she was asking him to take care of her son. He nodded slightly and turned back to the enemy. Many long guns, with blades attached to their muzzles, were pointed at the trio.

"That is most unfortunate then," said Beckett with a smirk. "They are standing in between you and me."

"Leave them out of this, _Beckett_," snarled Elizabeth. She pushed in front of Legolas and as she did so, conveniently dumped the chest in his arms. The Pirate King pulled out two guns —big ones— and pointed them at Beckett.

"How valiant of you," said Jonathan Beckett. He was not the least bit intimidated. "As you can see, as soon as you shoot me, all of you will be dead before you can say 'pirate'. I'll strike a deal with you. You come with me quietly, and I'll leave them alone. How does that sound?"

Elizabeth thought for a moment. How she longed for Will, to be safe in his arms. But if she resisted, they would all die. She put her guns down on the floor. "Done," she said.

"What?" said Legolas. "Not done!"

"I said done!" With that, she stepped right in front of Beckett and held out her wrists to have irons clapped on them. Not once did she turn back. The redcoats filed out of the door, leaving behind Legolas, Gibbs, and a very shocked Willie.

"No!" he cried. "Ma—" He was cut off as Gibbs clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Quiet, Willie," hissed the old fat pirate. "You don't want them to get you too." Legolas flew into action. For a second time, he had his arm around Gibbs' throat and was pointing a gun to his temple.

"I believe you owe us an explanation, Master Gibbs," he hissed.

"No, don't shoot me," wheezed Gibbs. The elf's grip was strong, and his breath was being cut off.

"Give me a good reason not to," said Legolas through gritted teeth.

"I had no choice!" choked Gibbs.

"No choice?"

"They made me do it!"

"A king may move a man, but the soul belongs to the man," said Legolas coldly, quoting Balian.

"I couldn't watch them hang Marty and Anamaria."

"So you'd rather watch Elizabeth hang with them?!"

"What...?" Legolas released Gibbs. The man gasped for breath.

"Look, I don't care why you betrayed us," said Legolas. "I'm giving you two choices, and you'd better make the right one this time. You can come with me and rescue Elizabeth, or you could not come with me, and I shoot you right now. Which is it?"

"I'm going to save Mama!" said Willie stubbornly. "You're not going without me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, mellon-nin," said Legolas. "Mr. Gibbs?"

"I'm with ye, lad," said Gibbs, rubbing his sore neck. "You sound like Cap'n Turner."

"Right," said Legolas, picking up the Dead Man's Chest. He'd dropped it when he'd attacked Gibbs. "Where are they going to take her?"

"Port Royal's the closest decent port 'round these parts. They've got gallows, and that's where they're keeping Marty and Anamaria."

"To Port Royal it is then, and it had better be the right place. If I find that you've tricked me again..." the elf's eyes gleamed menacingly.

"I won't be trickin' you again, Cap'n," said Gibbs. In his mind, the authoritative elf automatically changed from 'lad' to Captain. "You're more fiery than the damned _Dutchman_'s cannons."

* * *

Sibylla couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was supposed to be dead and yet, here was Balian, her Perfect Knight, in disguise and trying to tell her something without alerting the guards. Balian looked very pointedly at both her and the boy, and then jerked his head in the direction of the gardens. He wanted her to take their son out for a walk, with him acting as their escort.

"I'm sick of being cooped up here all day," she declared. "Come, Youmna, we're going outside for some air." She handed Barisian to her maid without another glance at Balian and wrapped a silken shawl around her shoulders. She walked out, knowing that Balian would be following. The other guards ignored her, seeing as she already had an escort.

Balian was careful not to act differently from the other guards. He kept himself a few paces behind Sibylla and Youmna, until they were in the gardens and out of the other men's line of sight. The blacksmith sent a swift prayer of thanks to God for the dense trees which hid them.

Sibylla finally stopped, and turned around to face him. "Balian..." she breathed. Within moments, he had swept her into his arms and she was crying into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry..." she whispered.

"Don't be," said Balian. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I should have been here to protect you...you and our son." He removed his helmet and dropped it, revealing a head of long tousled dark curls, so similar to little Barisian's. Sibylla took the little boy from Youmna and handed him to his father. For the first time, Balian was holding his child, his own flesh and blood, warm and pulsing in his arms. Emotion clogged up his throat and blurred his vision. He could speak. He blinked, and a tear of joy and intense love slipped down his cheek. Moisture clung to his eyelashes like tiny diamonds. He grinned — an expression of untold delight.

Barisian, however, was not so enthusiastic. Who was this man? He wanted his mother. The child reached out with a tiny hand which resembled a starfish. He started making little distress calls as only very small children could make them.

"Oh, Barisian," said Sibylla, taking him back from Balian. "That's your father. He is a very good man; the best man." The little boy stared at Balian with large blue eyes, not sure of what to make of him. She turned to her knight. "I wish you could've seen him when he was a baby."

"He is still a baby, isn't he?" said Balian.

"I meant a really little baby."

"He's still a really little baby to me." He pulled Sibylla up against him and held his tiny family close. "We're together again. That's all that matters." He glanced down at the two of them. "I've come to help you escape, but Richard guards you like a hawk. Is there any time when you are allowed out of the palace grounds?"

Sibylla thought for a while. "Sunday," she said. "I'm allowed to go an attend mass at the Cathedral."

"When you return from the Cathedral, take your time, and say you want to look at the wares on the streets, or something," said Balian. "Richard cannot deny you that, surely."

"What have you planned?"

"At the moment, nothing, but from my experience, it is at times such as those that it is easiest to make an escape." He gripped her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Wait for me, Sibylla. There is still too much that I don't know. I swear, I will get both you and our son out of this godforsaken place. I'll find a way to get us back to France, and we'll never have to see war or politics ever again."

"Of course I'll wait for you, my Perfect Knight."

* * *

Balian found Imad pretending to be an apothecary. "We strike on Sunday," said Balian to his Muslim friend "when she's going back to the palace from the Cathedral. I need to know where it is best to strike."

"Come with me," said Imad. "Yusuf, my spy, knows all the alleyways and backstreets of Tripoli. He'd drawn some wonderful maps."

"What about the shop?" asked Balian. "If you and I go and look at maps, a thief can come and steal everything, and we'd be none the wiser. That doesn't do much for your disguise."

"We close the shop," said Imad. "You Franks have something called a siesta, no?"

"Only in summer," said Balian "and not where I come from."

"It is always summer in Tripoli. Besides, Yusuf is next door. He's a physician."

* * *

The place was decided upon. Imad and Yusuf would be waiting in an alleyway close to the Cathedral. Balian, of course, would be in Sibylla's entourage, as close to her and Barisian as possible. When they passed the alley, Balian would take his family directly into the alleyway and Imad intended to lead them out by the secret tunnel which only spies and smugglers knew about. Balian told Sibylla about the plan, and she agreed.

"You only get one chance, Balian," said Imad. "If you fail, we're all dead."

Balian nodded. His muscles were tense. He was doing this for Sibylla and his little son. "_Allah __huba'ana_," murmured Yusuf. _May God be with __us_.

* * *

Although Rivendell was beautiful with a soothing atmosphere, Will could not find it in himself to enjoy it. The pain and discomfort of his 'illness' overwhelmed his senses. Sometimes he couldn't even eat, for the pain made his stomach purge itself of all its contents. There was always someone with him. More often than not, it was either Jack or Paris. Barbossa and Achilles also volunteered to help, the former feeling like he owed it to Elizabeth and little Willie. If he hadn't been feeling so bad, Will would've laughed at the sight of these antagonistic people cooperating for his sake. He supposed they had fought —and lost— a war together, although Achilles had been on the winning side before he changed allegiances.

"It's no good," said Elrohir —or it could've been Elladan. "I would that my father was still in Middle Earth, but he passed through the Grey Havens a month before. We must get Will to Gondor. The hands of a king are the hands of a healer, and that is particularly true of Estel."

"Can he make it to Gondor?' asked Paris. The young pirate looked like a macabre spectre of his former self. He'd lost weight, and his colour was greyish in tone.

"He'll have to," said the half-elf.

Will, Paris and the rest of the rabble of pirates, Greeks and Trojans stayed in Rivendell for a grand total of three days, mainly to let Will rest and recuperate a little before continuing on to Rohan. "We'll have to miss Lothlorien, I'm afraid," said Merry. "With Lady Galadriel gone, the magic of the Golden Woods is fading."

"I wish I could've had a chance to glimpse the Lady," said Paris with a sigh. "Both Balian and Legolas spoke highly of her. Besides, she would've been able to help Will."

"Who is this lady?" asked Achilles as he clumsily tightened the girth on his horse. "If Legolas speaks well of her then she must be mighty indeed."

"She is," said Merry. "One of the greatest elves Middle Earth has ever seen. Frodo and Balian are the only people I know who've been allowed to look into her mirror. They wouldn't tell us what they saw, but I doubt it was their own reflections."

"Balian talked about it," said Paris. "He said he saw Hector and Troy, and the Wooden Horse, and Captain Barbossa's ship..."

"Oi!" said Jack. "She's _my_ ship."

"She _was_ your ship," drawled Barbossa.

"Right, so you can see the future in this magic mirror," said Achilles.

"I guess so," said Merry.

"I wonder how much it's worth," Ragetti whispered to Pintel. The other pirate shrugged.

"Must be worth quite a bit, seein' as it's magic an all," said the fat pirate.

"Best not to play with it then," said Achilles. "I don't trust things that have minds of their own."

"You are boring," said Jack. Achilles glowered at him but did not further pursue the argument. After all, Jack had not accused him of being a eunuch...yet.

* * *

He was hungry, very hungry. There'd not been much food except for the occasional scrawny rodent. He wanted fresh meat; tender man flesh with its hot salty blood. Urgakh opened one eye and glanced out of the cave. The sun was setting, at last. Ever since the fall of Mordor, the remaining orcs had not fared well, even though now, there were rumours that the Dark Lord's old minions were gathering in the East, under a new power.

The orc sniffed the air. There, he could smell it. It was only a faint whiff, but it was there nonetheless. "Wake up, scum," he hissed to his fellow orcs. "Man-flesh. Tonight, we feast."

* * *

The darkness closed in around them as they sat around a small crackling campfire. Something was not quite right. Barbossa could feel it. There was a cold spot between his shoulder blades where he expected to feel a knife any moment. He whipped around and saw Achilles slowly polishing his sword. The tawny warrior's eyes were narrowed, as if he too suspected something. They weren't the only ones.

"There's something out there," said Paris. His hand went to the bow which the lords of Rivendell had given him.

"What?" whispered Pippin, edging closer to the fire and to Merry.

"I don't know," said Paris, putting an arrow to his bow. "Be on your guard. Take Will to the centre. Helen, Briseis, you go to the centre too. Jack, Achilles, you stay close to him. I'm putting you in charge of their safety. The rest of you, encircle them, and face away from the fire. Merry, Pippin, stay close to Barbossa. Ragetti and Pintel, get away from the fire and take your positions."

"Who died and made him boss?" grumbled Pintel as they all did as they were told.

"His brother, Prince Hector, I fink," said Ragetti.

"I don't want no one shootin' me in the chest," said Pintel.

"Will you two shut it?' hissed Jack. "It's a secret operation."

"It's a wot?" asked Ragetti. No one answered him. Paris wished more than anything that Legolas was with them now, or that he didn't have to be the leader.

Briseis' hand moved to the short sword she'd taken from Rivendell. 'Borrowed,' she thought. 'Borrowed without permission.' She was not going to let anyone capture her as Eudoras had done. Achilles glanced back at her and nodded slightly. She gave him a small smile. The warrior turned back to the darkness. He itched to be on the frontline. Why was he, Achilles of the Myrmidon, being assigned as Will's nurse? He felt that it would be better if he and Paris changed positions.

Helen kept her gaze fixed on Paris. He'd changed so much since Hector's death. She could see his brother's shadow on him. 'Gods, protect us,' she prayed. She'd never been in an ambush before. Menelaus had made it sound like the most exciting thing that could ever happen to anyone, but she knew better than to trust his judgement.

Jack, Barbossa, Will and Achilles had their swords drawn, even though Will was swaying slightly on his feet. "Sit down!" Barbossa hissed at him. "It won't be doin' us any good if you get yourself killed, Captain Turner."

"Let us do the fighting, eh, Whelp?"

"We're a team, Jack Sparrow, Barbossa," said Will, determined to do his part. Just because his heart was missing didn't mean that he was totally helpless, not in his opinion anyway.

"It's _Cap_—" Before Jack could finish, he almost got skewered by a thrown spear. "Bloody spear-chuckers!" he cried.

"Orcs!" shouted Merry and Pippin.

"Achilles didn't know what orcs were and he didn't care to ask. All he knew was that they were under attack. No one attacked Achilles and got away with it, maybe with the exception of Briseis. He blocked a blow and with a circular move, disarmed and decapitated his attacker. Foul thick black blood spurted onto him. He had no time to be disgusted. The _orcs_, whatever they were, were coming like a flood of black seething bodies, or so it seemed. The lack of light made it difficult to see properly.

Paris was barely managing to fend off his attackers. He, Merry and Pippin worked as a team, guarding each others' backs.

"I'll nail yer gizzards to the mast you poxy curs!" roared Barbossa. "Come 'ere! Come to the Captain!"

"Hey, they isn't undead," said Pintel as he stabbed one of the black monsters with his sword. It fell dead at his feet.

"It don't matter, do it?" demanded Ragetti. "There are too many."

"I says it matters," said Pintel. "If they're not undead, then they can be killed. The more you kill, the less there are."

"Oh shut it!" said Jack, shoving an orc into the fire and then dousing it with his precious elven liquor. The dark creature burst into flames and ran screaming back to his companions, creating even more chaos. Helen screamed and lashed out wildly when a dark leathery hand with yellowed fingernails grabbed her arm. Jack immediately lunged in to rescue her and cut off the offending hand from the offending orc. "It's rude to grab," he told his enemy.

Another orc snatched the half-empty flask of liquor from his hand. "Bugger!" cried Jack. It wasn't rum, but something alcoholic was better than nothing at all. He picked up a fiery brand and lobbed it at the orc. The burning wood hit the flask, smashing it and then setting the liquid contents ablaze. The orc screamed as burning alcohol landed on his skin. "That'll teach you to rob Ole Jack of his drink." He forgot about drinks when he heard Will cry out in pain. An orc had run him through the belly. Still being decidedly undead, the wound was not fatal, but it definitely hurt.

"Forward, scum!" shouted Urgakh. His voice was cut off when Jack the monkey launched himself at the orc's face and tried his best to smother him. Paris saw his chance.

"Watch my back!" he shouted to Merry and Pippin as he aimed an arrow at Urgakh. The arrow pierced the orc's chest, just slightly left of the centre. He fell with a gurgle, and Jack the monkey leapt off unscathed.

"Thank you, Jack," said Paris.

"You're welcome," said Jack the pirate, who was busy helping Will.

The other orcs saw their leader fall. None of them wanted to be the next one to die. They sneaked back to their cave. Hopefully next time, there would be some less prickly prey.

Will collapsed to the ground. There was a sword stuck in him. "Ow," muttered Pippin.

"He should be dead," said Achilles.

"Technically, he's not alive, so he can't die," explained Jack. "Not yet anyway."

"We'll have to remove the sword," said Paris. "He can't travel like this."

"Oh, right, I didn't know that," said Jack sarcastically. "But how do you remove it without hurting him? That's the question."

"Just do it," said Will through gritted teeth. "We need to get to Gondor. Those things might return."

"All right, Whelp. Hold tight," said Jack, pressing down his young friend. "Barbossa, you do the pullin'."

Will arched his back and screamed in pain as Barbossa extracted the sword with an utter lack of expertise. Blood oozed out from the wound, even as the wound began to slowly close.

"Now that is one handy trick," said Jack. "Well done, Whelp. I suppose you'll have something to tell your bonnie lass when you next see her."

"It's just the remnants of the curse," whispered Will hoarsely. "Soon, it won't help."

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, getting angstier. I totally miscalculated and this chapter is exceptionally long. The next chapter probably won't be so colossal. Reviews please?


	8. Gallant Rescues and More Confusion

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Note: **Sorry for the late update. The uploading mechanism was playing up on me.

**Chapter 7: Gallant Rescues and More Confusion**

Port Royal. It had been her home for so many years and now, she was going to die there. Civilians lined the streets to watch the Pirate King, under heavy guard, being escorted to the courthouse for a brief trial which was to be more of a show than a real trial where she would be undoubtedly sentenced to hang. Jack had been so lucky. Will had been there to save him. She wished she could see her dear husband one last time, but as fate would have it, they were soon to be forever sundered, he, somewhere alive and she, in the world of the dead. She wondered what it was like. Yes, she'd seen World's End but no doubt purgatory was not the endless ocean where those who died at sea went.

They passed Will's old abode and she caught a glimpse of the boarded up blacksmith's shop. In her mind, she could see Will, with sweat gleaming on his brow, hammering on a piece of hot metal to shape it into something elegant; a sword perhaps. It was a sweet image. "I'm sorry Will," she whispered. "I meant to wait for you."

Will would take care of their son, when the two of them finally met; of that she was certain. And he'd get his heart back. She trusted Legolas.

She was shoved into a dark cell with dirty straw lining the floor. The door was closed and the lock clicked into place. They left her alone to be with her thoughts and bittersweet memories.

* * *

From the distance, Port Royal seemed like a harmless sleepy little place, with quaint looking houses and a not-so-menacing port. Through Willie's spyglass, Legolas could see men setting up the gallows. Three nooses. It seemed that Gibbs had been wrong and Legolas had been right. That aristocrat Beckett had no intention of letting any pirate live. As far as he was concerned, any deal made with a less-than-honourable pirate was as good as no deal. His deal with Elizabeth had been different. Elizabeth was of aristocratic blood. It was strange how the mindsets of men worked.

"Mr. Gibbs," said Legolas. "I think you're in for a spot of trouble."

"Why d'ya say that, Cap'n?" asked Gibbs. This elf had a certain quality about him which made men hasten to obey him.

"Your friend Beckett has no intention of honouring your deal."

"Whaddya mean?"

Legolas sighed and lowered the spyglass. Gibbs was definitely not the brightest man he'd ever met. He trained weary eyes on the old fat pirate. "In simpler terms, he lied to you."

"But...but...the code...honour."

"You're a pirate; you have no honour. Take all you can—give nothing back. And since when did your authorities make deals with pirates?"

"How are we going to save Mama?" demanded Willie, getting more and more desperate. It sounded serious.

"Simple," answered Legolas. "The same way your father saved Jack, but with a dash of style and my own personal secret ingredient."

"What's that?" asked Gibbs.

"Chaos." Without further explanation, Legolas jumped into the water. He had a favour to ask of Hector.

* * *

The day of the hanging arrived. Crowds gathered on the fort. Poets sold ballads about the Pirate King and her lawless adventures on the high seas. Others, less educated, sold snacks. It wasn't hard for a disguised Legolas to infiltrate into the midst of the common people of Port Royal. They were all too excited to notice this suspicious stranger. Willie, along with the not-so-courageous Gibbs, had been left in the boat. The other two didn't know it, but Legolas had an unseen ally.

Hector Assaracus, the new Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ — he knew everything that went on in the seas, and he'd promised to watch Willie and Gibbs for as long as Legolas needed. If Gibbs tried anything that might harm Willie, Hector would be there.

* * *

Elizabeth was surprised to see three nooses dangling menacingly from the gallows instead of one. Who were these other unfortunates?

"Stop pushing me, you poxy cur!" came a woman's voice with a familiar Haitian accent.

"Anna-Maria!" said Elizabeth. "What are you doing here?" All right. So that was a stupid question. It was obvious why Anna-Maria was here. 'How' would've been a more appropriate thing to ask.

"No talking, prisoners!" shouted the guard, giving Elizabeth a shove. She stumbled forward and then shook him off, glaring at him.

"Get your filthy hands off me, soldier," she said coldly. "I am of the peerage, and you will always be only a cur to me." She stuck her chin in the air and put on all the arrogance befitting of a governor's daughter. She looked braver than she felt, but Beckett would not get the satisfaction of seeing her courage fail. If she was to die, she would at least die with dignity. Elizabeth stepped onto the wooden platform, not allowing her fear to show.

The hangman slipped the noose over her head and tightened it. Then he moved onto the other two. Marty, the other unfortunate, had to stand on a barrel in order to reach the noose. They'd all accepted it, even if they weren't ready. The hangman got ready to pull the lever which would open the trapdoors beneath their feet, but he never got the chance. A gunshot rang out, hitting the big man in the chest. He fell with a gurgle. At the same time, a silver blur flew out of nowhere; it was an elegant little knife. Its sharp edge cut the nooses free. More gunshots rang out. Elizabeth recognized the sound of her favourite guns. Whoever the shooter was, he was good. Not a single shot missed. The redcoats looked around fearfully. The shots were coming so rapidly that they were certain there was more than one gunman. People scattered, screaming and trampling one another in their haste to escape the rampage, thus increasing the severity of the situation.

From the boat, Willie peered through his spyglass, and then dropped it frantically. "Mr. Gibbs!" he cried. "We gotta do somethin'. They're gonna kill her! Bring the boat closer!"

"Now, lad, I don't know for sure if it be a good idea..."

"She's me ma!" Without waiting for Gibbs to take action, Willie took over the steering. Thank goodness Captain Barbossa had taught him something. "Hoist the colours, men!" he cried. "They will hear the roar of our swords and the ring of our guns and they will know what we can do!"

"I'm pretty sure you got it all wrong, but by the locker, there's no mistakin' your parentage, my boy!" said Gibbs. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was a pirate, and it wasn't fitting for a pirate to die except by flashing guns.

"Why won't little boys and old men ever listen to instructions?" said Hector out loud to his crew. From beneath the waves, he could see everything. Will's boy and Jack's former first mate were going to get themselves killed.

"I know you're not supposed to interfere, Cap'n," said Bootstrap "but I'm going to save me grandson, whether you like it or not."

"Not just save him," said Hector. "We're going to help him get his mother back. To the surface!"

* * *

The domed roof of the Cathedral was covered in reliefs of flowers and fruits and chubby cherubs. Balian wondered what Michael would think of this interpretation. The archangel was anything but chubby. He turned his attention to the tapestries and paintings. All the saints and angels seemed to be blonde. Now, Balian only knew one saint and one angel personally, but neither of them was blonde. The dome magnified the droning of the bishop. After the magnificence of Moria and Minas Tirith, the Cathedral was an inferior structure. It made Balian feel strange to be here, listening to prayers in Latin. It had been years since he'd been inside a church.

Sibylla was in front of him, with a shawl covering her hair piously. In Youmna's arms, Barisian was beginning to fuss. He was bored. He made strange noises, as only babies could. "Down," he demanded, utilizing his very limited vocabulary. "Me down." His little face was growing red as he got ready to bawl. How Balian longed to play with him and hold him in his arms, maybe even sing a few songs to his baby boy.

He could see Richard in the very front row. It was impossible not to. The king of England had a head of hair the colour of flames, and it had been carefully styled and oiled. He was also taller than everyone else by half a head. Decked out in luscious gold and purple silks, he looked like some sort of big exotic bird. Perhaps a dyed peacock.

'Achilles would've liked to fight him,' thought Balian. He wondered where the others were. For certain they would've been able to help him in this. If Will walked through a wall, all the Christians would be terrified out of their wits. And Jack was rather good at —unintentional— diversions.

The blacksmith snapped out of his daydream and brought his mind back to the present. He couldn't afford to dream. The bishop was now raising the host, all the time praying to God to accept this sacrifice and forgive their sins.

'God, help me,' Balian thought. Surely God would not be so cruel to offer him another chance of having a family and then rip them away from him again.

It took all of Sibylla's willpower to stop herself from glancing back at Balian. Every few moments, she felt the need to convince herself that he really was here to rescue her and Little Barisian from imprisonment. It felt like a dream. The bishop's sermon made little impact on her. In fact, she did not hear a single word of it. All her attention was focused on trying to stop Barisian from squirming and on the prospect of sailing to France with Balian.

Mass seemed to drag on for longer than usual. 'God,' Sibylla prayed 'protect us.' She kissed her little son to calm him down.

"Go in peace to love and serve the Lord," the bishop finally intoned. The deposed queen felt her excitement building. This was their chance for freedom.

People began to file out of the Cathedral, murmuring amongst themselves as they did so. The huge domed roof magnified their voices. Richard was amongst one of the first to leave. "We should go, milady," said voice close to her ear. It sent a delightful shiver up her spine. The rough accent of one accustomed to speaking the Langue d'Oïl contrasted with and yet suited the beautiful soft and slightly husky voice.

"Indeed," said Sibylla, feigning aloofness. "I wish to look at the wares at the market before returning to the palace."

"As you wish, milady," he said.

'Since when did _Balian_ adopt the mannerisms of a courtier?' she wondered as she followed the other people out of the sacred building. She had to admit, it was quite charming when he did that but she preferred the blunt unforgiving honesty of her Perfect Knight.

Unbeknownst to Balian, Richard was prepared for any attempt to rescue Sibylla and Barisian. There were disguised soldiers watching the deposed queen and her lover. The King of England was no fool. He wanted the elusive knight caught alive if possible.

Balian's grip on the hilt of his sword tightened as they neared the place where Imad was waiting. There were only three other men guarding Sibylla, but Richard and his entourage were only about a hundred paces ahead of them. He needed to be very quick.

Sibylla glanced back at him for reassurance. She clutched little Barisian tightly. Balian gave her a small mile and tried to show more confidence than he was feeling. They needed him to be strong. He saw Imad leaning against the side of a building and pretending to smoke hashish. Balian nodded at Sibylla and then whipped out his blade, immediately decapitating one of Sibylla's guards. Blood splashed onto his face. The disguised soldiers as well as the other two guards leapt into action. The alarm was raised. People scattered to avoid being caught in this quickly escalating skirmish.

Imad joined in the melee just as Richard and his entourage launched an attack. Barisian began to cry. His high thin wailing was drowned out by the din of battle. Youmna screamed, but her voice was quickly cut off when someone slashed her throat. A soldier managed to take Barisian from Sibylla, but he was promptly stabbed in the stomach when Balian snatched his son back.

Imad and Balian were on either side of Sibylla. She could only watch with her heart knocking against her ribs as Balian blocked a blow that would have otherwise bitten deep into his side. Everything was a blur of silver and red. She wasn't sure but it seemed that Balian's skill with the blade had improved. He moved faster and smoother than he had done so in previous battles, and he seemed to have learnt some new tricks. With a cyclic move, he disarmed his opponent and sent the other man's sword spinning into the air, narrowly missing another soldier. All the while, he was clutching a terrified Barisian close to him with his left arm.

Richard decided that the skirmish had gone on for long enough. Balian did not seem as if he would stop fighting anytime soon. No one knight was worth so much trouble, surely. He signalled to a man beside him who was waiting with a loaded crossbow.

* * *

Éomer had to admit he was surprised when Gamling announced that the two hobbits, Merry and Pippin, were waiting on the steps of Meduseld with an outlandish entourage. "Where do they hail from?" asked Éomer.

"You'd better come and see for yourself," said Gamling "for I cannot tell, Sire."

"I wasn't expecting Merry and Pippin so soon," said the young king of Rohan. He still felt uncomfortable being addressed as 'Sire'. Any moment, he expected his uncle to stride out. He got off his seat. It was so uncomfortable. How could Théoden have tolerated sitting here for so long? Personally, he was pleased that the hobbits were here. Their arrival had just coincided with a particularly long, boring and pointless meeting with his counsellors. They'd been arguing about who would be the most appropriate person to write the history of the late King Théoden. If it had been up to Éomer, he would've asked Faramir, the most scholarly and poetic person he knew, barring Gandalf, with Merry as an assistant. The hobbit had some skill with poetry and no doubt his uncle would've enjoyed what the little hobbit would say about him. They'd been fond of each other.

Middle Earth was a wondrous and diverse place, but it was also cold—too cold for Briseis' liking. She snuggled up closer to Achilles as they stood outside the palace, trying to warm herself. He felt good—warm and solid, as a man should be. "Here's another king who fights his own battles," Pippin whispered to Achilles as they waited for the doors to open. "Éomer's a really good warrior. His spear-throwing is amazing — of course, no one can beat Legolas when it comes to aim, but he's pretty good for a man."

"So this is the Edoras where our friend Balian became famous as a nanny," said Jack. "I must say I prefer Tortuga. This place looks too dour, as if rum doesn't exist."

"I for one hope they have some decent port," said Barbossa, dreaming. "And don't forget green apples. There be a serious lack of those in Troy."

Helen had never seen anything like this, and she'd seen a lot of things, for a Spartan woman. Although Edoras did not have the beauty and elegance of Rivendell, it had a solid and reliable feel to it, just like her absent brother-in-law. Dear Hector would not have seemed out of place here. They all missed him.

"Hang in there, Whelp," Jack murmured to Will. "Gondor's close by, savvy? Ole Legless said Gondor's right next to Roman."

"Jack, it's Rohan," said Paris. "And stop leaning over so much. You'll fall off your horse, again."

"I am not going to fall off, Paris," said Jack. "Who am I?"

Paris looked confused. Had Jack forgotten who he was?

Jack misunderstood Paris' confusion. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he said indignantly.

"Yes, I know that," said Paris. "Why did you ask?"

"Rhetorical question. Ever heard of those, Paris me lad?"

"Jack, I am not your lad."

The doors opened, and a young man with a long dark flaxen hair strode out. He had the regal bearing of a bird of prey. His eyes were sharp and piercing like a hawk's. In fact, everything about him was hawkish. Achilles knew a man of war when he saw one. This man was without doubt a warrior.

Merry bowed. "Your majesty," he said.

"Esquire Meriadoc," said the King of Rohan, indicating for Merry to straighten himself "welcome back to Edoras."

"It's good to be back, Lord Éomer," said Pippin, grinning. "We brought friends. Hope you don't mind."

Merry would have told Pippin that Éomer didn't have much of a choice anyway, but that seemed to inappropriate to say during such a formal situation.

Éomer's eyes roamed over the group and came to a rest on Will, who really could've been Balian's identical twin. Even the styles of their beards were similar. "Can it really be you, my friend?" said the king of Rohan. "Balian... We thought you were dead, by the horn of Helm Hammerhand!"

"Actually, Will and Paris are Balian's friends," said Pippin. "They just look like Balian and Legolas and they're Legolas' friends too, savvy—I mean, do you get the logic of it?"

"It's such an odd coincidence that three men and one elf can look so alike," said Éomer. "If you are friends of my friends, then you may count yourselves among my friends. Welcome to Rohan." The King led them inside.

"These people are awfully trusting," Paris said to Jack quietly. "What if we're holding Merry and Pippin hostage and making them say what they just said?"

Éomer whipped around, sword drawn. "Are you?" he said dangerously.

"No!" said Merry and Pippin

"Decidedly not!" said Jack indignantly. "This whelp here is just talking nonsense."

"I thought young Mr. Turner was the whelp," commented Barbossa dryly.

Will would've said that he'd gladly trade nicknames with Paris, but speaking took too much effort.

Éomer ordered the kitchens to prepare a feast. They all looked exhausted, especially the man called Will Turner, who seemed to be dying. He said so. Like Balian, subtlety was not a strong point of the young king.

Everyone, no matter how hungry they'd been, promptly lost their appetite. "What's the matter?" asked Éomer. It had been a little joke. Surely he'd not offended them? What could make Merry and Pippin lose their appetite? It must be serious indeed. The man with long tangled hair and too much kohl—_Captain_ Jack Sparrow; he'd been very specific about it— cleared his throat.

"The thing is, King of the Romans, the Whelp _is_ dyin' savvy?" That's why we needs to get 'im to this Ara-something-something with all haste."

If Will had been strong enough, he would've groaned. For one, Jack had once again mistaken the word 'Rohan' with 'Roman', and one did not address kings like that.

"I see," said Éomer. He was fascinated by this Jack character. How did Balian and Legolas become involved with a ruffian like this? "Well, you will rest here tonight, and come morning, my men and I will escort you to Gondor personally."

* * *

**A/N: **Dang; still unable to get Jack and company to Gondor, but they'll get there. Don't kill me, please.


	9. Rescues Gone Wrong

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin ...you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 8: Rescues Gone Wrong**

Beckett was about to give orders to his men to shoot the prisoners, but his jaws went slack as the _Flying Dutchman_ burst through the surface of the sea, dripping water from its sails. At her prow was a handsome man who seemed to be wearing some sort of ancient Greek armour.

Legolas took his chance. He made a flying leap, hurtling above the heads of the soldiers to land on the wooden platform. His movements were too fast for the redcoats who were guarding Elizabeth, Anna-Maria, and Marty. He tossed Elizabeth a gun, all the while fending off two men who were trying to stab him with their bayonets.

"Merci!" cried Elizabeth as she began firing. Legolas tossed another gun. Anna-Maria caught this one. Then Marty managed to get himself a bayonet. The four of them formed a circle, facing outwards. The redcoats surrounded them, but no one wanted to advance. Who was this gravity defying stranger? Beckett was sure that Elizabeth had lied to him. This angel of vengeance could not possibly be only a distant cousin of her aunt's nephew, twice removed.

"I don't know who you are, man," said Anna-Maria to Legolas "but I think I'm in love with ya,"

"That's very flattering, thank you," said Legolas. "Tell me when we get out of this mess."

Hector was looking through his spyglass. He couldn't see a thing. The port was so far away and Willie and Gibbs were a tiny little spot in the blue of the ocean. Bootstrap kindly went over to the captain and reversed the spyglass for him so that he was looking through the right end. The new captain gave a start. "Thank you, Mr. Turner," he said. "Now, fire those can...can...things, and try and miss, but don't miss too much. And hoist the colours."

The Trojan prince felt that he was doing a horrible job of being a captain of the _Dutchman_. He didn't know anything about sailing, or advanced navigational equipment, or artillery. Iron was an entirely new concept.

"Why do you want to miss, Cap'n?" said Bootstrap.

"I just want to cause enough of a diversion to allow Legolas and his company to escape, not kill anyone."

"Fair enough."

Beckett paled when he heard cannon fire from the _Flying Dutchman_. His men panicked and scattered. They knew what the ghostly ship could do. There hadn't been anything left of the _Endeavour_, except for a few bits of splintered wood. What if the _Black Pearl_, that other ghastly ship, was hiding just out of sight, waiting for the chance to close in on them, like that other battle?

"Jump into the sea!" shouted Legolas.

"What?!" said Elizabeth. "Are you crazy?"

"Trust me!"

"I do! That's how big a fool I am!" With that, Elizabeth leapt off the edge of the fort, miraculously missing the rocks. Marty followed suit. This left Anna-Maria. She'd always put on a brave face but the one thing that she could not stand was heights.

"Go on," urged Legolas. "There's no time. It'll be fine."

"I...I can't," said Anna-Maria, hating her own weakness.

Legolas sighed, and then shoved his guns into her arms before sweeping her off her feet.

"What are you doing?" screeched the female pirate.

"Jumping," said the elf. And what a jump it was. Anna-Maria felt herself and this stranger turning somersaults in the air before everything came into focus again. Legolas had landed neatly on his feet on a rock, much like a cat. He quickly set her down. Anna-Maria was speechless with wonder. To her mortification, she was blushing. No man had ever carried her like that before, not even her fickle Jack Sparrow, although Jack had been nothing but gentlemanly, to her face anyway.

"Swim to the boat," said Legolas. The water was warm and the seas were calm. No one came out to give chase. They were all too afraid of the presence of the _Dutchman_. Gibbs pulled them all up onto the deck of Elizabeth's vessel. The first thing Elizabeth did was slap him. Then she hugged Willie, although her tears of joy and relief made her unable to see properly, and she hugged Marty instead. Legolas waved to Hector, who grinned. "Thank you, brother!" called Legolas.

"Anytime!" shouted Hector. The _Dutchman_ began descending serenely beneath the waves. They all watched her go down.

"So that's Will's successor," said Elizabeth. "He seems a right gentleman."

"A good man in every sense," agreed Legolas. He turned to the grinning Willie. "Still got the chest?"

"It's safe, just like you asked me to keep it," said the little boy.

"Good man," said Legolas.

Beckett, having mostly recovered from the unexpected shock, was now ordering ships to go out after the fugitives.

"Now what do we do?" said Anna-Maria as she eyed the ships with white sails.

"We run away," said Gibbs.

"Technically, we sail away," said Marty. The near hanging and escape had left him giddy with excitement.

"Where to?" said Elizabeth. "Tortuga's no longer safe."

"Run first, think later," said Legolas, who had no solution. The sky above them was growing dark. The clouds formed a most unusual pattern. They swirled, as if there was a cyclone forming somewhere up there in the atmosphere. Lightning flashed. Thunder roared like the sound of a thousand cannons. Then the rain started to fall, pelting down like hundreds of cold watery bullets. Waves started rising, beginning to rampage. A chute formed, reaching down into the dark depths.

"What in the Valar's name?" said Legolas. The little boat could not fight against the current, and it was being sucked down into the whirlpool.

'Oh, right,' thought the elf. He wondered where he was going to end up, if he was going to end up anywhere at all. He took a deep breath just before the water closed over his head. The salt water stung his eyes. It was dark. He reached out wildly and grabbed the back of Willie's shirt, preventing him from being washed away by the current. And then as suddenly as they had been dragged under water, they were in dry air again. Legolas opened his eyes. He was somewhere very familiar, but seeing that place from a totally new perspective.

* * *

Sibylla saw the crossbow bolt flying towards Balian and their son. Balian did not. "Look out!" she screamed, flinging herself at him to knock him out of the projectile's path and at the same time, putting herself directly before the bolt. The arrow slammed into her chest, missing her heart and striking her rib. A jolt of pain shot through her and she gasped.

"Sibylla!" cried Balian. His voice seemed distant and it echoed inside her head, as if he was far away. She didn't respond to him.

He rushed to her, forgetting about everything. The sounds of the fight faded away, even though Imad was frantically calling out to him. This momentary lapse was all that Richard's men needed to surround them. The soldiers kept their weapons pointed at the fugitives, even as they parted ranks to let Richard through. Balian immediately levelled his weapon at the king of England.

"Balian of Ibelin," said Richard, smiling like a satisfied lion. "At last we meet. It is such an honour, although I must say I expected someone slightly more impressive."

"What do you want, Richard?" snarled Balian.

"I will tell you what I _don't_ want," said Richard. "I don't want to be your enemy, Balian, but at the moment you are leaving me very little choice."

"You could've chosen to fight me like a man, instead of using your petty little tricks."

"I don't see the need to take such risks. Put away your sword, Balian. You're surrounded. Your attempt to rescue your queen was valiant, but a failure."

Balian was furious, but he was not a fool. He handed Barisian to Imad and sheathed his sword. As he did so, his fingers brushed the cold hard muzzle of Jack's gun. He kept it with him at all times, although he hadn't had many occasions to use it. His nose caught the noxious stench of sulphur, and his eyes scanned his surroundings until he found the source. Someone had been selling fireworks when the fight had broken out. The vendor had abandoned his precious merchandise from the Far East in his haste to avoid being caught in the middle of two feuding noblemen. 'Gunpowder is the stuff which people use to make fireworks,' he remembered Will saying. Balian held Sibylla steady with his left hand while his right one wandered down to the pistol. Sibylla leaned against him for support. He drew her closer to him.

"Get ready to run," he murmured in his less-than-passable Arabic.

"What did you say?" said Richard who had not bothered to learn the tongue of the Saracens. He thought it beneath him, and he was soon to regret that.

"Goodbye, Richard," said Balian, even as he pulled out the pistol and fired at the pile of explosives.

The roar of the explosion reverberated through the streets of Tripoli. Balian wasted no time. Shoving the gun back into his belt and reminding himself to thank Jack the next time he saw the pirate, he scooped Sibylla into his arms and followed Imad into the maze of Tripoli's backstreets and alleyways. "Stay with me, Sibylla," he whispered as he ran. "It's not your time...not yet."

Debris and dust rained down on Richard and his men. They had no idea as to what had just happened. Somehow, Balian had caused that explosion. Richard just didn't know exactly how. Was that knight more than just a man?

"He's a sorcerer!" cried one of the soldiers. For the moment, the king of England felt inclined to agree. It didn't really matter. No sorcerer was going to defeat a king who'd been appointed by God.

Or so Richard thought.

* * *

Imad led them through a series of tunnels until they were outside the city. The spy Yusuf was waiting for them with five horses and some civilian clothing. Exhausted, Balian's little son had fallen asleep in Imad's arms. Sibylla was weak with blood loss and pain. "Balian," she whispered "am I going to die?"

"No, Sibylla, no," said Balian in a trembling voice. _Why, God? Why?_ "You're going to be fine. I'll take you back to Jerusalem, and you can recuperate there. When you're well again, we'll go back to France. No more palaces, no more politics, no more wars." He settled Sibylla before him in the saddle. The arrow's shaft still protruded from her chest. This was the third time someone had taken an arrow for him. The previous two, Godfrey and Boromir, had died. He prayed to God that this would not be the third time that someone would die for him.

"I've never been to France," Sibylla murmured as she pressed closer to Balian. He was so solid and warm, smelling of sweat, just the way she liked him. She felt so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep in the arms of the man she loved. "What's it like?"

"It's beautiful," said Balian. He nudged the horse with his heels and urged it into a walk. "It's always green there, and in winter when it snows, everything gleams silver."

"Sounds like Heaven."

"France is far from Heaven, but it's good enough for me. You won't have seen anything like it. We'll be happy there, with a home, and raising a family in peace. I'll make you happy, I promise you that."

* * *

The next morning, Will could not ride on his own. He felt so weak that simply nodding or shaking his head was a huge effort. Jack, no matter how determined he was, did not have the skill to take a passenger, and a wagon would make the going too slow. In the end, it was the king of Rohan himself who bore Will before him in the saddle, just as he'd done for his cousin Théodred. He prayed that Will would be more fortunate than his cousin.

Achilles watched Éomer closely, even though he knew that he ought to be concentrating on his riding. It was so different from the riding style he was used to in Greece. Paris seemed to have adapted to it better than he had. The king of Rohan was a warrior if there ever was one. It was the first time Achilles had ever seen a true warrior king, and he could feel excitement welling up inside him. Middle Earth must be special indeed if it could boast so many men who were worthy of the title of king. Éomer had spoken well of Aragorn. The king of Gondor must be truly awesome to behold.

Helen clung on grimly to the saddle and the reins. Her thighs were chafed from so much riding and her muscles were tight and stiff. She didn't tell Paris though. He had enough to worry about, with Will's condition deteriorating so quickly. She knew they were close, like brothers.

Despite his concern for Will, Paris felt invigorated as he urged his horse into a canter. He'd always been a good rider, and the stirrups steadied him even more. His horse understood him. It only needed the slightest nudges to make it go where he wanted.

Barbossa was glad that his horse was somewhat like a sheep. It followed all the other horses. All he had to do was hold onto a handful of mane and the pommel and hope that his teeth and eyes would not be shaken out of his skull. He knew that he ought to be worried for young Turner, seeing as he was Willie's father, but he was too busy worrying about falling off and breaking his neck.

Mountains and forests gave way to wide open plains. In the centre of the scene before them was a huge tiered white stone structure. Will vaguely registered that it resembled the wedding cake that he and Elizabeth never got to touch.

"That's Minas Tirith!" called Éomer. Paris and Achilles could only gape. Compared to this, Troy looked like a sandcastle.

'I wish Agamemnon could see this,' thought Achilles. 'I'd hire a painter to capture the look on his face.'

"Is this the city of the gods?" squeaked Briseis. Unlike Helen, she'd often ridden with her two older cousins when she'd been a little girl. With her oldest cousin being known as the 'Tamer of Horses', she felt as comfortable on horseback as she was when on her feet.

"Darling, the gods don't exist," said Achilles. "At least, most of them don't, although I must admit I believe in Calypso's existence."

Horse's hooves clattered on white stone paved streets as they entered the city. Éomer led them up. Level after level they rode, leaping up steps and through arches, barely missing civilians going about their everyday business. Children leapt out of their way and then chased after them, but stopped when they got onto the sixth level. This continued until they were at the very top, and could see for miles without anything obstructing their view.

Barbossa tumbled out of the saddle, and promised himself that he was never _ever_ going to ride again. If he had to walk the distance from France to China, then he would do just that.

"Blimey," said Ragetti, sliding off his horse. He peered out across the plains. "Look at that."

"I feel I can almost touch the sky, if I stands on a chair," said Pintel excitedly. "I wonder what clouds feel like."

"Take Will to the Houses of Healing," said Éomer, forgetting that these were not natives to Middle Earth. "I will go and inform Aragorn that we have arrived."

"The what?" asked Jack and Paris.

"The infirmary," translated Merry. "Come on, Pip, we'll take them."

Carried between Jack and Paris, Will was half carried to the Houses of Healing.

"Everythin' is white," commented Jack. "Not a practical colour, that; shows dirt too easily."

"This is the infirmary," said Pippin. "No one's going to let it get dirty."

"It's so _big_," said Polyxena to no one in particular. The youngest princess of Troy was overwhelmed by all the new things. They passed a sculpture which depicted a man surrounded by children and an elf standing on a tall crag of rock, taking aim with his bow and arrow. There was also another man, standing tall and proud, bearing a horn on his hip.

"Who are they?" asked the girl.

"That's Balian and Legolas and Boromir," explained Pippin. "Strider's going to have to change the inscription when he finds that they're still alive...Legolas and Balian, I mean."

"Good likeness," said Barbossa. "They forgot the ruby in Balian's sword." He went for a closer inspection. "In memory of the heroes of the war who fell," he read.

"As I said, Strider will definitely have to think of a new inscription," said Pippin. "From my experience, live people don't like to be thought of as dead."

At last they reached the inside of the Houses of Healing. Merry spoke to a healer, and they quickly prepared a bed for Will. The young man's complexion was waxy, almost translucent. They could almost see him fading before their eyes.

"Ye jest have a l'il rest," said Jack. "Éomer's gone to get that Ara-something."

"My name is Aragorn, stranger from the distant lands," came a low melodious voice full of authority.

"Strider!" cried Merry, forgetting that the ranger whom they'd met in Bree was now the king of Gondor and ought to be addressed as the king. "You've got to help Will. He's very sick."

"Éomer has told me about this man, although I do not fully understand him." said Aragorn. Achilles looked him up and down. The king's face was weathered from spending so many years in the wild, but his grey eyes still sparkled with inner youth even though he was weighed down by the responsibility of running a nation. His hair was dishevelled and most un-king-like. All the kings which the lord of the Myrmidon had known had well-styled hair, not including himself or Éomer of course.

Aragorn went to Will's bedside. "Valar," he whispered to Éomer. "You were right. He does look exactly like Balian." He laid his fingers on Will's wrist to find his pulse, and then frowned when he could feel none.

"This is odd," he said. Disturbing was more like it. "How can anyone be alive and breathing, and yet not have a pulse?"

"It's a long story, your nibs," said Jack. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the strange man who wore kohl. And what sort of title for a king was 'your nibs', not that he minded. 'Your majesty' was such a huge mouthful and absolutely unnecessary. He didn't know what to make of him. His skin was the colour of a Haradrim's and yet he looked nothing like a Haradrim. He was decked with colourful and flamboyant, albeit tattered, fabrics. And that hat...why would anyone wear a triangular hat?

"And your name, good sir?" asked Aragorn.

"He be Jack Sparrow," drawled Barbossa.

"_Captain_!" insisted both Jack and Pippin.

"It's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, your nibs," said Jack "but you may call me Jack."

"Jack," said Aragorn "why doesn't Will Turner here have a pulse?"

"Well, for one, he's undead, savvy?"

"Excuse me?" said Aragorn, not sure he'd heard that correctly.

"Undead, as in not fully alive but not dead either," explained Jack. "You see, your..."

"Just Aragorn will do," said the king. "My friends do not address me by my title, and neither should the friends of my friends."

"All right, Ara—Aragorn, is it? You see, Will had his heart cut out. Well, it's a curse, savvy? He has to—well, had to— ferry souls across to the other side and to do that, he had to have his heart cut out, by the decree of the heathen goddess Calypso, otherwise known as Tia Dalma, the Sea Witch of the Caribbean, who fell in love with Davy Jones, that tentacle beleaguered cretin ..."

"The thing is," cut in Barbossa, seeing that Jack was going into a rather convoluted version of the story and wasting precious time "young Turner here was fine without a heart as long he remained on the ocean, but now that he can walk on land, he be needin' his heart back, and he's dyin' without it."

"Can you help him, please?" said Pippin.

"I don't see what I can do," said Aragorn. He'd never seen such a situation before.

"You have to do something!" said Paris.

Just then, outside from the direction of the courtyard where the White Tree of Gondor stood, there was a splash, a crash, and a lot of cursing.

"What in Mandos' halls is going on?!" came Faramir's perplexed and angry shout. "There's a _boat_ in the White Tree!"

* * *

**A/N: **No prizes for guessing who just arrived. (grins) Reviews please?


	10. Boats in Odd Places

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 9: Boats in Odd Places**

Legolas grimaced as he realized that their boat was in the White Tree. Well, partially, at least. He picked a pale leaf out of his wet hair. Wasn't it sacrilege to harm the tree? The elf had a feeling they were in for a spot of trouble.

"Legolas?" said Faramir. "Can it really be you?"

"No, it's Balian" the elf managed to retort dryly, jumping out of the boat with a metal chest under his arm.

Legolas turned back to the boat. "It's safe to jump, everyone!" he called. "Actually, Willie, I'll catch you."

Two women, one fair and one dark lowered themselves from the boat. A fat man followed, with much less grace, and landed on his behind. Another man, this one tiny, landed on the fat man. That left a little dark haired boy. "You sure you won't miss?" he asked nervously. Now that he was required to jump from a great height, it didn't look so exciting anymore.

"Trust me, little one," said Legolas. "I never miss." The boy looked doubtful. Faramir decided to intervene.

"How about we steal some of the king's cushions?" he suggested. "Then we can set them on the ground and it won't matter if Legolas misses or not."

The boy's eyes were wide. "Steal the king's cushions?' he asked. "Won't she be mad?"

Faramir frowned while Legolas disguised his laugh as a series of unconvincing coughs. Why in the world would the boy assume that a king was female? "Why would the king be a _she_?" asked Faramir.

"Well, Mama's the Pirate King, and she gets mad when I use her cushions to build forts."

"Well, of course," said Elizabeth impatiently. "But this is safety we're talking about, not play. If you used my cushions to save someone's life, I definitely would not get mad."

Faramir raised an eyebrow. 'I'll explain later,' Legolas mouthed. He handed the chest to Elizabeth

"Well, he won't be mad," said Faramir. "He's a very kind man."

'The queen might not like it though,' he thought. Women were...well...women. They didn't like dirt, in general. How they could tolerate marrying men who were prone to attracting dirt — was beyond his comprehension. He got his men to bring out the stacks of plump fluffy cushions.

"Ready?" said Legolas.

"Ready, set, jump!" shouted the boy. He bunched up his leg muscles and leapt.

Legolas did catch the boy, but because of the boy's enthusiastic jump, the momentum knocked him onto his back. Thank the Valar for Arwen's beautiful cushions.

"That was awesome!" declared the boy. "Can we do it again? Please?"

"Uh, Willie, no," wheezed Legolas. "You are a very big boy, and I think I'm too old to take these rough and tumble games."

At Faramir's shout, Aragorn simply had to go out to investigate, followed closely by Barbossa, Achilles, Paris, Éomer, Pintel, Ragetti, Merry and Pippin. "I'll just be a moment, Whelp," said Jack, before he too joined the others. The men, having much longer legs than the hobbits, raced ahead. Pippin noticed with some interest that Jack's body tilted backwards when he ran, and the pirate was waving his arms like a panicking lass.

"Wouldn't that make it awfully difficult to run?" he commented to Merry.

"More difficult than getting a boat to the seventh level of Minas Tirith and in the White Tree of all places?" asked Merry.

"I guess not," said Pippin.

A small crowd of elite guards and noblemen had gathered around the White Tree, or rather, what remained of it. "Let me through!" came a deep rich roar. Paris stood on the tips of his toes to look over the heads of the other spectators and glimpsed what he thought was a small moving mountain with masses of red hair.

"That's Gimli," puffed Pippin, who'd finally caught up with the rest of the Big Folk. "You can tell by his voice."

"You mean this is _the_ Gimli, as in Legolas' friend the dwarf?"

"The one and only," said Merry. "This should be interesting."

The crowd had parted to let the king and his company through. A boat, about twenty five feet in length, had its hull caught in the white branches of the tree. Its prow rested on the flagstones below. A familiar looking being with a head of long golden hair and pointy ears was looking about him in bewilderment. If his national sacred icon hadn't just been destroyed by a ship, Aragorn would've laughed. He'd never seen Legolas looking so dishevelled before.

"How the blazes did you get a boat in _this _tree?" demanded Barbossa.

Elizabeth whipped around. Barbossa was here? How the blazes did _he_ get here?

"It's nice to see you too, Barbossa," said Legolas sarcastically.

"You villain!" Anna-Maria screeched as she lunged at Barbossa. Elizabeth and Gibbs managed to pull her back. "You took Jack's ship and left him on Tortuga to rot!"

"I knew you'd warm up to me," said Jack, smiling brilliantly.

"And you!" snarled the Haitian woman, breaking free of Elizabeth and Gibbs. In two strides she was before Jack, and her hand connected soundly with his cheek.

"Did you deserve that, Uncle Jack-Jack?" asked Willie.

"Not really," said Jack, rubbing his face gingerly. Anna-Maria glared at him, fire blazing in her coffee-coloured eyes. She stuck out her chin, and she seemed to be preparing to slap Jack again. Jack quickly took a step backwards. That woman had a very strong arm. "Well, possibly, maybe, a little," admitted the charming pirate.

"Of course you did!" spat Anna-Maria. "You stole my boat, again!"

"Was that leaky trash your..."

_Thwack._ Anna-Maria had slapped Jack again, on the other cheek.

"You definitely deserved that," said Willie knowingly. If someone called his ship trash, he would slap him too.

"All right, I confess," said Jack dramatically, holding up his hands. "I borrowed your boat, without permission but with every intention of returning it, savvy?"

"That's what you said seven years ago!" screamed Anna-Maria, spraying Jack's face with spittle.

"Well that ship sank," said Jack with a grimace. "I did mean to give you the _Interceptor_, honest." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Anna-Maria, darling," he said solemnly. "I swear, on me honour, that I, Captain Jack Sparrow, will give you your promised boat, all right?"

"You will?" Anna-Maria was so surprised and pleased by his gentlemanly ways and courtly language that she forgot to be angry with him. That rogue was really very charming, despite all his faults and fickleness. And he would be a beautiful man, if he would only wash sometimes and not be drunk all the time.

"Of course, luv," said Jack, spreading his hands. "Who am I?"

Anna-Maria grinned. "You're Captain Jack Sparrow," she said.

"Exactly," said Jack in satisfaction. At least someone knew the answer. He glanced up at the boat in the tree with interest. Its messiness contrasted nicely with the order of Minas Tirith, or so he thought.

"So, I guess our vessels tend to end up in odd places, eh?" said Jack. "First, it's the _Pearl _and the _Dutchman_ on a rock, then it's the _Pearl _in a wee pond, and now..." He spotted the Dead man's chest in Elizabeth's arms.

"Thump — I mean, the heart!" cried Jack, pointing excitedly at the chest. "That's Will's heart!"

"Did I hear wrongly or did you just call Will by his real name?" said Legolas. Everyone looked at him strangely. "Never mind," he added.

Jack snatched the chest from Elizabeth and raced back to the Houses of Healing. Elizabeth chased after him, shouting at him to return the chest to her.

"Mahal's beard!" cried Gimli. "Where have you been you pointy-eared elvish princeling? I'm going to kill you! And Faramir wasn't joking. There really is a boat in the tree! Was it raining cushions?"

"It's good to see you too, Gimli," said Legolas, who'd regained his breath by now. The two friends hugged each other, laughing.

Then Aragorn and Faramir decided to join in welcoming Legolas back to Middle Earth. In amongst this impromptu celebration, Willie, Gibbs, Marty and Anna-Maria felt left out and awkward. That was when Jack came running back. "Aragorn!" he shouted. "Get yer sorry self in the infirmary! Will needs you! And Barbossa, Lizzie listens to you. You get her away before she drives herself mad with worry, savvy?"

Willie turned to Gibbs. "Are they talking about my papa, Mr. Gibbs?" he asked.

"I should think so," said Anna-Maria, who still had not forgiven Gibbs for falling for Beckett's trick. "I only know one Will Turner, and that's your old man."

Faramir gaped at the strange dark man who was wearing as much kohl as a Haradrim princess. Didn't he know that Aragorn was the High King of Gondor? How could anyone address a king like that?

"How's Will?" asked Legolas as he and Aragorn ran to the infirmary, followed closely by the others.

"Not well," said Aragorn. "Whoever named him named him well. If not for his will to live, he would've been dead by now."

"Just as well," said Legolas. "They have waited so long for each other."

They were in such a hurry that they did not bother knocking before barging into Will's room. Elizabeth was kneeling by his bedside, holding his hand to her lips. She was crying. Will, on the other hand, seemed more content than Legolas had ever seen him. "Where's my son?" he managed to say. "I want to see him before..."

"There'll be plenty of time later," said Aragorn in a no-nonsense tone. "Right now, we need to get your heart back to you."

The king of Gondor thought that he was hiding his nervousness quite effectively. He had no idea how anyone was supposed to put a heart back inside a man's chest. 'May the Valar give me guidance,' he thought. 'I'm going to need it.'

* * *

"Send out a hundred knights!" Richard ordered. "They cannot have gone far. I want Ibelin here, dead or alive! Preferably alive. I want to kill him myself!"

"As you wish, milord," said Gerard de Ridefort, getting up. After seeing from a distance what Balian was capable of, he doubted that Richard had the prowess needed to kill such a man. However, he did as Richard commanded. Richard was Henry and Eleanor's son after all. One did not cross Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Gerard sighed. He had a feeling that Balian was a difficult one to catch, dead or alive. Dead would certainly make things easier. He reminded himself to bring a few crossbowmen, just in case.

Balian cradled Sibylla in his arms. Her blood soaked his surcoat. He'd never felt so much fear. It wrapped itself around his bones, seeping into his mind like a dark poisonous mist. They could not ride fast, for fear of further aggravating Sibylla's wound. She drifted in and out of consciousness as he bore her away from Tripoli. Sometimes, she called out to him from her fever induced nightmares. At other times, she wept, losing precious moisture.

"Balian, we cannot tarry," said Imad. "We must get out of enemy territory by tonight, for the...for your son's sake." He'd been about to say 'for the little prince's sake', for that was what Barisian was. He was the heir to a precarious throne, and it was best for Balian and his family if the little boy never sat on it.

"But Sibylla can't..." began Balian.

"Listen," said Yusuf, who was a physician by trade, and had no time for romantic sentiments. "The sooner she gets to Jerusalem, the sooner she can get help. She has lost too much blood, and the desert djinn are drawn to sickness."

"Hold on, my love," whispered Balian to the unconscious woman in his arms as he urged his horse into the smoothest canter possible. He glanced backwards, and swore loudly in Greek, Elvish, Pelagostos, French, and any other language he remotely knew. Imad and Yusuf both turned to him with confused expressions, and then they both swore along with him. Well, Yusuf swore. Imad was too well brought up to use any vulgar words.

"Templars," spat Balian. They were the bane of his existence, with the possible exception of orcs. He had no choice but to kick his horse into a gallop. However, the horse accidentally plunged its hoof into some desert creature's burrow, and with a trilling scream it tripped, snapping its leg and throwing its riders into the sand. The rough landing drove the breath from Balian's lungs. Sibylla cried out as the impact broke the arrow. Her cry made Balian scramble to her side. "No, no, no," he was saying, as he lifted her into his arms. Her face was ashen and waxy, like that of a corpse. The horse was struggling to its feet. One of its legs was bent in an impossible angle.

Yusuf turned his horse around and rode back. He didn't know who the most important person was in this game of life and death, but he definitely wasn't it. The Templars were approaching swiftly. He dismounted. "Get on!" he shouted at Balian.

"The horse can't carry all of us!" said Balian. "Here, take Sibylla! Take her to safety!" He was ready to die defending his family if need be.

"Get on, Frank!" said Yusuf. He shoved Balian towards the horse, pushed him into the saddle and then handed the unconscious Sibylla to him. "Ride to safety! _Yalla_!" The realization dawned on Balian.

"I can't let anyone else die for me!" he insisted.

"Allah save us!" said Imad. He pulled his sash off his waist and tied Barisian to his front. "Your father is the most stubborn man I know," he said to the child. "Yusuf is the second most stubborn man." With that, he rode back to where the two men were arguing about who should die for whom.

"Balian, ride!" said Imad in his most authoritative tone. "Yusuf, you ride with me!" Thus rearranged, they rode on.

"Have hope!" called Imad. "The border is in sight!" The Templars were slowly but surely gaining on them. Their horses were tired. At the lead was Gerard de Ridefort himself. He'd been in Guy's faction and he blamed all the bad fortune of the Latin Kingdom on Balian. Making a blacksmith the Marshal of Jerusalem had broken the Great Chain of Being, and they were paying for this transgression of God's laws. Seeing that Balian would soon cross the border and be out of their reach, Gerard ordered his crossbowmen to fire armour piercing bolts.

It was difficult to aim properly with crossbows while being seated on galloping horses, but one bolt hit Balian in the shoulder, piercing chain mail, skin and flesh to lodge its head deeply in his muscle. He uttered a short cry of pain. God, these crossbow bolts hurt. Only stubborn determination kept him from falling out of the saddle. The horse's hooves flew over the boundary and out of reach of Gerard's crossbows. Finally, they were safe.

Gerard watched them disappear. He cursed. Why did that commoner have to be so damned lucky? He didn't want to be the one who had to tell Richard that Balian had escaped yet again.

* * *

Balian, Imad, Yusuf, Sibylla and Barisian rode into Jerusalem. They were all exhausted, and two of their company had been shot. Underneath his mask of dirt, Balian was pale from pain and fatigue. He could not even dismount without help. Andromache rushed out to receive them. 'By Zeus' beard,' she thought. Was it even possible for Balian to return from one of his ventures unscathed?

Andromache took the little boy from Imad. The child was hungry and tired. Maybe it was because Andromache was a woman and a mother as well, but Barisian immediately took to her and settled quietly into her arms. She took him down the kitchens to find him something to eat. Later, she would introduce him to her own son. It would be good for him to have some company while his parents were occupied with matters of life and death.

"Sibylla," croaked Balian, as he was half carried to his bed.

"Yusuf's looking after her," she heard Imad say. The spymaster then proceeded to use all his powers of persuasion to convince Balian that he was not all right and needed to rest.

"You poor darling," Andromache murmured to the child whom she took to be Balian's son. The familial resemblance was too much for him to be anyone else's child. Barisian devoured the soft vegetables and the bread in goat's milk that Andromache was feeding him. When he'd had enough, he began to fuss. Andromache carried him up to the room where Astyanax was napping under the watchful eye of a maid. Within moments, Balian's heir was asleep, next to Hector's. Andromache waited for a while before getting up to pay a visit to the boy's father.

Balian was sitting up in bed. His shoulder had been bound, but he had not bothered to put on his shirt. It was far too warm for him to need it.

"How are you?" she asked, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

"I've been better," he admitted. "How's Sibylla?"

Worry had etched itself onto his face. There was so much anguish in those brown eyes. Andromache suddenly felt the need to comfort him as if he was her brother, a younger brother, to be exact, even though he was older than her. He was so vulnerable, especially in matters of the heart.

"I don't know," she said. "But I'm sure she'll be fine."

"She was fevered when I last saw her, Andromache," said Balian. "That was how it started for my father. He became weaker and weaker. The bad humours overwhelmed him, and as strong as my father was, he couldn't defeat them. How can Sibylla fight the fever?"

"I am so sorry," said Andromache. She understood his pain. She too had been widowed, in a sense. Why did good people have to suffer this sort of agony? Balian was the last man who deserved it. Well, Balian and Hector, and maybe Will Turner.

"How's my son?" Balian's voice broke through her thoughts.

"He's fine," said Andromache, relieved that she could at least give him one piece of good news. "I fed him. He's asleep in Astyanax's room right now. I thought he needed rest more than a bath. And you, Balian; you need sleep too. Don't tell me you don't, because I won't have any of this 'I'm fine' nonsense."

"I can't sleep, Andromache. She could be dying. I need to be there beside her."

"You won't do her any good if you die of exhaustion. Now listen to me, Balian. Close your eyes."

Balian gave up trying to argue with her and did as he was told. Within moments, he was asleep.

* * *

Elizabeth paced outside Will's room impatiently. She'd been chased out, and so had Jack, since the pirate had proved to be a very big distraction with his incessant talking. Anna-Maria was also outside keeping Elizabeth and Willie company. "He'll be fine," said the Haitian woman. "Will Turner is a strong man, and Legolas did say that this Aragrog or Aragon or Ara-something is a very good healer."

Will's wife rubbed her upper arms nervously. "Does he know how to replace a heart?"

Anna-Maria couldn't think of any answer to that, so she kept silent. Willie watched his mother with some concern. He'd never seen her so vulnerable and frightened. He wished he was a big strong pirate like his papa or the Captain, able to send away all her worries. It seemed to take hours, but Legolas finally came out with a smile.

"Will's going to be fine," he said.

"Can I see him?" asked Elizabeth.

"He's asleep at the moment, but you can go in and watch him sleep if you want. You're his wife. I have no right to stop you."

Aragorn came out. "I am never going to cut open anyone's chest or handle live warm beating hearts ever again," he declared. Elizabeth was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for this man, this king, who'd saved her husband's life. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, startling everyone who was there.

"Thank you so much!" she said. "You've given me back my husband, and my son his father. How can we ever repay you?"

Before Aragorn could reply, someone else answered for him. "It's his pleasure, believe me," said a low melodious female voice.

"Arwen," said Aragorn, going over to kiss his wife. "What took you so long? Didn't you hear about the boat in the tree..."

"And my cushions?" said the Queen of Gondor. "Of course I heard about it all. However, Estel, you left me to fend off thirteen of your councillors while you played healer. Did you forget that you had a meeting scheduled for today? Truly, I have no desire to discuss the appointment of the court historian."

"Are you dealing with that too?" said Éomer. "Why do these councillors all seem to think that writing the history of the War is important? Anyway, isn't Frodo already doing it? We could always borrow his and then add little bits of our own."

Jack stared at the Queen of Gondor. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. If the _Black Pearl_ was suddenly transformed into a living being, she'd look like Arwen. No wonder Aragorn could stay with her for the rest of his life. He was a very lucky man; very lucky indeed. 'And she gave up immortality for him?' thought the pirate. Did women have different priorities to men, or was it the difference between pirates and aristocracy?

Arwen greeted Elizabeth with all the grace befitting of elven royalty. "Welcome to Gondor," she said. "You must be tired, considering how you arrived. Since your husband is not yet awake, maybe you and your son would like to rest and refresh yourselves, so to be ready for him when he does wake."

Elizabeth had to admit that she did crave for a nice decent hot bath with scented oils and bubbles...lots and lots of bubbles. "That would be lovely, milady," she said, curtseying as she'd been taught when she'd been a little girl. Maybe all this aristocratic etiquette might just come in handy after all.

Mother and son followed Arwen as she glided through the many corridors. Normal people walked, there was no other way to describe the Queen's movements. She was so graceful, as if her feet did not touch the ground at all. Elizabeth decided that her stay in Gondor would be interesting, to say the least.

* * *

Aragorn downed his third glass of wine to calm his nerves. His blood was still roaring in his ears and he continued to perspire. Never in his life had he done something so risky, and he'd done a lot of risky things in his time. It wasn't hard to admit that he never wanted to see anyone's beating heart again.

They were all gathered in the king's study, well, almost all. After Arwen had stopped berating the men —males, rather— for the sorry state of her cushions, she'd taken Elizabeth and Willie to see Will. The other women were resting in the Queen's quarters, having bathed and eaten. Aragorn had left a healer there with the young pirate, just in case he displayed some of _Legolas'_ and _Balian_'s tendencies to escape from the sickbed when he was not ready. Aragorn liked to think that he was the epitome of an ideal patient.

"You did well, laddie," said Gimli. "That wee lad wouldn't have lived without you."

"The hands of a king really are the hands of a healer," said Achilles in genuine admiration. Legolas, who was back to his normal meticulous self, raised an eyebrow when he heard the brawny Greek. The lord of the Myrmidon sounded like a boy speaking of his idol. Now that was an amusing thought.

There came an urgent but polite knock on the door. "Come in," said Aragorn. It was Beregond, the captain of the elite guard. "A messenger from the border, milord," he said.

"Send him in," said Aragorn.

A ragged man with blood streaking his face stumbled in, almost toppling over before the king. "Haradrim raiders, Sire," he croaked. "Raiders and pirates. They came from both land and the river to attack us on two fronts. We did not know of it until they were upon us. My captain sent me to tell you, and it wasn't easy to break through the enemy ranks, milord."

"What of your contingent?" demanded Aragorn. The man shook his head.

"The captain told me to ride to Minas Tirith with all haste, and to tell you of our situation." Then the man broke down into tears. "He was my brother! I told him to go, but he wouldn't listen, and he wouldn't let me stay and fight beside him either..."

"What is your name, soldier?" asked Aragorn.

"Minalcar, son of Mardil, Sire," replied the man.

"Take him to the Houses of Healing," Aragorn said to Beregond. He turned back to the soldier. "If your brother is still alive and not in the hands of the enemy, we'll find him."

Minalcar nodded and followed Beregond out.

"What is going on?" asked Legolas. "Why are there still raids?"

"I don't know," said Aragorn "but these raids at the borders have been going on for some time now. Whenever we send out more men to fight the raiders, they simply...disappear, as if they've merged themselves with the elements. We've guessed that they were Haradrim, but only today have we had that assumption confirmed. They leave almost no clues at all. At the site of each raid, only one or two bodies were found, and they were all Gondorian, but stripped of their armour and livery."

"What about the rest of the men?' asked Paris. Aragorn shook his head.

"Like the raiders, they've simply disappeared. No one knows what happened."

"We've managed to keep it a secret so far," said Faramir "but I don't know how much longer we can keep the truth from the people. This is the last thing Gondor needs, especially so soon after the War of the Ring. I fear that another war is at hand, and Gondor has yet to recover her full strength. And those pirates are proving to be much more of a problem than we'd initially thought."

"If I may have a word, your nibs," cut in Jack. "Who knows how to fight pirates better than other pirates?"

* * *

**A/N: **Not much action in this chapter. At least one party's back in Middle Earth. I'll have to think up ways to get the other party in somehow. The team's not complete without the sometimes-too-honourable Balian ;) Reviews please? By the way, I miscalculated again. Next chapter, I think, will be back to normal length.


	11. Pirates of Gondor

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 10: Pirates of Gondor**

Everyone turned their eyes to Jack. The pirate looked absolutely serious. This was not some sort of trick. He truly wanted to repay the king of Gondor for saving a dear friend of his. What better way was there than helping him to win a war?

"That's a very good point," said Éomer, looking thoughtful.

"We don't even have proper fleet," said Faramir.

"It's a pity that the _Pearl_ is still stuck in a pond somewhere in the Shire," said Barbossa, thinking wistfully of _his_ beloved ship.

"Hobbiton," volunteered Pippin. "The _Black Pearl_ is stuck in a pond in Hobbiton."

"Can we, say, commandeer a ship?" suggested Jack.

"Commandeer?" said Aragorn.

"It means stealing some ships, to put it more bluntly," muttered Legolas loudly from the side of his mouth, rolling his eyes meaningfully. The elf seemed rather amused by the whole idea of Gondorians commandeering ships.

"It's a nautical term," retorted Jack. "Real sailors don't steal; they _commandeer_."

"Steal ships from whom?" said Faramir. All of a sudden, the idea didn't seem so appealing. Stealing went against everything that the young Steward of Gondor stood for. It simply wasn't right.

"Why, they who be stealin' from us, of course," said Barbossa. The old pirate's eyes gleamed. He plucked a green apple from the fruit bowl and sank his yellowed teeth into its waxy skin. Juice ran down his chin and into his scraggly beard. "Jack, I must say that this be the best idea you've had in twenty years."

"I've always had great ideas," said Jack indignantly "and you ain't known me fer twenty years, savvy?"

"No," agreed Barbossa. "I just be assumin' that you never had any good ideas before I came along either."

"So we're going to turn pirate to fight pirates?" said the ever honourable Faramir. It sounded so ignoble.

"The ends justify the means," said Éomer with a shrug. "I don't suppose I have a say in this, but if we can stop a war from breaking out, a little piracy seems reasonable enough. It's a good plan."

"More than good," muttered Jack. "It's bloody brilliant."

* * *

Sibylla had opened her eyes when she heard someone opening the door of her room. It was dark, and the air smelt of incense. She was sweating, but at the same time, she felt cold. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she could make out the familiar shape of Balian coming towards her. In his arms was little Barisian. She had to smile at the sight of their son snuggling up to his long absent father.

After the boy's initial reaction to Balian, he seemed to have accepted this strange man. For certain he was kind, and he had a nice voice that rumbled when Barisian put his ear against his chest. The little boy liked that. This newly arrived big person made him feel safe, and he was nicer than the other men who wore cold hard clothes. However, this man was not his lovely mother, and he didn't understand why she had to stay in bed all the time. In his mind, his mother could never get sick. His mother was his invincible defender.

When Barisian saw Sibylla, he stretched out his arms for her. "Mama," he said, as he began twisting in his father's arms, struggling to get to his mother. Sibylla tried to sit up, but she felt so weak. There was no strength left in her. It was as if she was already halfway out of this world and into the next.

"Sibylla," said Balian softly. "Lie down. You need to rest." He sat down in the chair beside her bed. She reached out with a frail shaking hand. He caught it in his own rough one. She was so delicate. Her skin was cold, papery and almost translucent. He could feel every one of her bones.

Barisian freed himself from his father's grasp and toddled on unsteady feet to his mother. He tugged at her sleeve. "Up," he said. "Mama play?"

"Oh darling," said Sibylla. Her voice was almost inaudible. A tear slipped from her eye. Moisture clung to her eyelashes like tiny diamonds. How could she bear to leave her vulnerable little boy behind? He was so young. He still needed her. "Not right now." She turned to Balian. "I'll have plenty of time to sleep later. I want to be awake to enjoy these moments."

"Sibylla, you can't die," said Balian. His voice broke and he was swallowing rapidly. "I need you. Barisian needs you. It wasn't meant to be like this."

"Things hardly ever happen the way we meant for them to happen, my Perfect Knight," said Sibylla with a sad smile. "Everything is in God's hands. I used to think that I could control my own fate but now, I know better."

"I don't believe that our fates are entirely out of our hands," said Balian stubbornly.

"Maybe not," agreed Sibylla. "But I chose this fate when I chose to stay behind in the Holy Land instead of going to France with you." She gave a small sigh. "I wish I'd made a wiser choice. I'm so sorry, Balian, I really am."

Balian bent down to kiss her damp forehead. "I love you," he murmured. "You can make all the worst choices in the world and I would still love you."

She felt his hot tears fall onto her skin. For a moment, she could forget her pain as she basked in his love.

* * *

The Houses of Healing seemed to be a labyrinth of white carved stone. Elizabeth held tightly onto Willie's hand as they followed Arwen through arches and around turns. The dying sunlight cast long shadows over them. Birds were singing their evening songs as they readied to roost for the night.

Elizabeth wished she'd thought of asking Jack to lend her his compass. Her borrowed dress fit snugly, but it was not uncomfortable. She'd been relieved to find that aristocratic ladies in Gondor were not required to wear corsets to be fashionable. The Queen had made sure of that. At any rate, Arwen did not need a corset. She had a perfect figure.

Willie was wearing his beloved tri-corn hat with his new Gondorian clothes. Well, they weren't his. Like his mother, he'd borrowed clothes. Faramir, it seemed, was prone to keeping everything that he'd ever owned, and from a dusty coffer, he'd found some clothes which he'd worn as a boy. Considering what little boys usually got up to, these clothes were in an extraordinarily good condition, with only a few stray patches. The Steward had smiled when he'd seen Willie with those clothes. "My mother made them for me, just before she died," he'd said. "You're taller than I was, but I was only five years old at that time."

With his strange array of clothing, Willie looked odd, but piratical in a '_Captain _Jack Sparrow' sort of way. The little boy was nervous about meeting his father for the first time. He'd heard so much about Will that in his mind, his father was almost a demigod.

Arwen stopped before a plain wooden door. "In here," she said. "A healer will be out here waiting if you need anything."

"Thank you, milady," said Elizabeth, curtseying. She felt as if she was an aristocrat again. She hadn't felt that way for a long time. She and her son stepped into the dim room. On the bed and sandwiched between starched white sheets was Will. His chest was wrapped with white linen bandages and he wasn't wearing a shirt. His long dark curly hair was loose, and he'd lost the bandanna. Elizabeth let go of Willie's hand and strode to her husband's bedside. He'd lost weight, and he looked pale, but at least he was breathing easily. She sank to her knees beside his bed and kissed him on the forehead.

"Hello, Mr. Turner," she said fondly.

"Mrs. Turner," said Will, opening his eyes with a smile on his lips. "How lovely to see you." His voice was still weak, but there was a lively light in his eyes.

"Oh Will," breathed Elizabeth, clasping his hand and bringing it to her lips. He was pale and thin from his illness, but at least he was alive and lucid. And he had a pulse. Her eyes grew blurry with joyous tears. "I missed you." It didn't sound right, but it was the only thing she could think of to say. Her joy robbed her of all coherent thought.

"I missed you too," said Will, reaching up with his other hand to tuck a wisp of stray hair behind her ear. "Not a moment went by when you were not at the very centre of my thoughts."

Willie stood awkwardly to the side. His parents seemed to have forgotten he was there, and they were sounding so 'mushy' as his Uncle Jack-Jack would say. He scuffed his shoe on the floor, catching his parents' attention.

"Will," said Elizabeth, pulling the boy towards the bed. "This is William James Turner."

"Hello Papa," said Willie shyly, holding out his hand to his father. There was something very solemn about the boy's manner. Will shook his son's hand.

"Hello William," he said, not sure of how a father was supposed to speak to his son. "Barbossa spoke of you."

"He did?" said Willie, brightening up. "What did he say?"

"Willie here idolizes Captain Barbossa," said Elizabeth dryly. "He is in desperate need of a positive paternal presence."

"Why are you using all those big words, Mama?" said Willie. "What don't you want me to know? Did you know it's rude to talk about other people behind their backs?"

Will chuckled, and then winced as the movement hurt his wound. His hand flew over his heart. Elizabeth was instantly concerned. "Will?" she said. "Are you all right? Will? Talk to me! Look at me!"

"I'm fine, Elizabeth, truly," said Will. "Chest wounds are supposed to hurt."

"How long are you going to be in bed for, Papa?" asked Willie. "I broke my wrist once, and Mama made me stay in bed for years!"

"It was only three months, Willie, until your wrist was fine," said Elizabeth.

"No one said I had to stay in bed," began Will.

"William Turner!" scolded Elizabeth. "You will stay in bed until Aragorn says you're allowed to get up, and I don't want any 'buts' from you; do I make myself clear?"

"Inescapably clear," replied both Willie and Will together. Father and son glanced at each other, and then burst out laughing.

'Oh dear God,' thought Elizabeth fondly as she pretended to put on an angry expression. 'They are so alike. They even both quote Jack Sparrow at exactly the same time.' She wasn't able to maintain her composure for long and she was soon laughing with them as they told each other about their various misadventures.

* * *

"All right," said Faramir, who was acting as the scribe for their impromptu war council. He suspended his quill above his sheet of paper. "Let's have a look at the smaller picture. How in Arda are we to _steal_ a fleet of ships from underneath the corsairs' noses?"

"_Commandeer_," corrected Jack.

"Either way, he does have a point," said Paris.

"We'll get to that when we come to it," said Jack casually, waving his hand about in a drunken manner. Actually, he probably was drunk. He'd had several cups of the Dorwinian wine which Aragorn had imported.

Jack's words alarmed Aragorn very much indeed. Were they going to attack the Eastern pirates with no plan whatsoever and improvise as they go along? He would never do something so risky. Plans were essential for him — granted, they weren't always very good, considering the number of potentially problematic situations he and Legolas had gotten themselves into in the past. However, he was of the opinion that bad plans were better than no plans at all.

"How did you commandeer the _Interceptor_, Jack?" asked Legolas.

"Well, if you must know..." slurred the pirate. In a very drunken and not very comprehensible manner, he told them about how he and Will had sneaked up from under the water by using the air trapped beneath an upturned boat.

"Won't it look a bit suspicious if we have, say, ten walking boats?" said Faramir. How the British Navy didn't notice that single walking boat was beyond his comprehension, unless of course, the navy really was as useless as Jack made it out to be.

"So what do you suggest, Lord I-know-everything?" said Jack. He tried to pour himself some more wine but missed his cup. Aragorn hastily moved all the priceless maps and important documents out of harm's way. He gave Legolas a perplexed look. How in the Valar's name did his meticulous elven friend get entangled with this man's affairs? Legolas shook his head tiredly. Coincidences, he decided, were not that amusing after a while.

Faramir pursed his lips and tried not to be offended. The man was a pirate, and an intoxicated one at that. Surely his bad manners could be excused.

"Well, for one, we need men," said Paris.

"We need men who do not fear death," elaborated Achilles.

"Gondorians are not cowards," said Aragorn.

"I mean men who have nothing to lose and the world to gain," said Paris. "These ought to be men who have no other choice but fight and advance."

"And where do we find such men?" said the king.

"The criminals who be sentenced to death who are sittin' in yer dungeons rottin' away, perhaps?" suggested Barbossa. He fed Jack the monkey a sugared almond.

Jack belched and almost toppled over, and he would've done so if Gibbs had not caught him.

"Why don't I feel this is a very good idea?" said Legolas. "We have criminals fighting for us. Think about it. These are murderers and robbers and rapists."

"At least we know they're not going to hesitate to kill," said Paris with a shrug "and we need pirates to fight pirates. All we need to do is secure their allegiance, and I think I know what to do."

* * *

Balian watched his son play with Astyanax. Barisian was more or less the same size as the younger boy, although there must have been a year's age difference between them. His son was quiet for a child of his age, while Astyanax made lots of noises to himself. The younger boy held out a wooden figurine —wet with drool— to Barisian. The dark haired child eyed the other boy, not sure of how to react. Then he took the toy. "Fank you," he said in his high voice. Astyanax cooed and giggled.

"They seem to be getting along quite well," said Andromache, coming in with a tray of food for the two boys.

"I'm glad," said Balian. He was haggard with worry for his beloved. There were shadows under his eyes and although he smiled when his son toddled over to him and invited him to play, the smile seemed slightly forced. Sibylla's condition was deteriorating quickly. There was no hope left. That hurt more than any wound of the flesh.

Barisian seemed to know something was wrong, but he didn't know how to ask about it. He tugged at his father's sleeve and looked up at him with the innocent wisdom which only children possessed. Balian scooped up his son. "Mama?" said Barisian.

"We're going to see her this afternoon," said Balian, bouncing the child on his knee. "Would you like that?"

The little boy nodded. Then he noticed Andromache and the food. "Auntie," he said. "Hungry."

Andromache took him from Balian. Her heart ached for this little child who was soon to lose one of the most important people in his life.

* * *

It was night. Neither the moon nor the stars were shining. Yusuf had told him to be ready. Sibylla would soon set off on her journey, and they would be separated forever. It was so difficult to accept. Barisian had fallen asleep in a chair. Balian wanted Sibylla to have her family around her during the last moments of her life. He cradled her in his arms.

She opened her eyes. They were unfocused, but she seemed contented. "Don't grieve for me, Balian," Sibylla whispered, smiling. There was nothing coy about her now, nothing seductive. All that he could see in her blue eyes was pure untainted love. "I won't be alone. Jocelyn can keep me company. We'll gossip about you. It seems years since I've gossiped about a handsome man."

"It's not polite to talk about a man behind his back," said Balian with a watery smile. "I'd rather you made fun of me before my face."

"That's not gossip then. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Godfrey's in Purgatory, isn't he? He'll look after me, the way he did before you came along."

"Don't leave us all alone, Sibylla," said Balian, choking on the lump in his throat.

"Look after our son, Balian," said Sibylla earnestly. "He's never been a very strong child...and I fear for him."

"I would lay down my life for him, and for you." And Balian wished that he could trade his health and immortality for Sibylla's life, but it seemed that God would not have it. Sibylla reached up with a shaking hand to cup his face tenderly. His beard was prickly beneath her palm. She could feel the hot wetness of his tears. He was so beautiful and perfect in every way. What had she done to deserve him? He'd given her light, and after her first son's death, a reason to live. Then he'd given her Barisian. It was so unfair of her to abandon him now, especially since he'd risked torture and death to save her, but God was calling her home. No one defied the Almighty, not even a headstrong queen of Jerusalem.

"Bring Barisian here," she said. "I want us to be close."

Gently, Balian picked up the sleeping child. He woke up, making groggy noises and rubbing his eyes. "Sleepy," he said. "I want Mama."

Sibylla held out her arms for her little son. He willingly snuggled up to her. Balian held them both against him. She'd never felt so satisfied, with her child in her arms and the man she loved holding her.

"I love you, husband mine," she whispered, leaning against him so that she could hear his strong steady heart, pulsating with love and passion. He gave a start.

"You call me your husband?" he whispered.

"If you will have me as your wife."

Balian was totally dazed. "We need a priest..." he said to no one in particular. Then he snapped back into focus. They didn't need a priest. There was not enough time to find one. Will and Elizabeth had been married in the middle of a battle on a ship by Barbossa. Why couldn't he have God and the angels as witnesses? He reached up to his neck to where he wore Sibylla's ring on a chain. He yanked off the chain and slipped the ring off it.

"Sibylla," he said "with this ring, I take you as my wife, and bind myself to you forever." He put the little gold circlet onto her thin finger.

Sibylla was weeping tears of joy. "Balian of Ibelin," she said, mustering all her remaining strength "I have no ring with which to bind myself to you, but with God and the angels as witnesses, I take you as my husband and I will remain faithful to you for all eternity."

Balian kissed the top of her head tenderly. His beautiful Sibylla—his wife. He drew them even closer to him, wishing that this moment would never end.

"I'm tired, Balian my husband," said Sibylla with a contented little sigh. "Can you hold me whilst I sleep?"

"Of course," said Balian softly. In his heart, he knew what was coming next. Sibylla's breathing grew fainter. She closed her eyes.

And never opened them again.

* * *

They buried Sibylla next to her brother and her son, Baldwin the younger. At least in death, she would be surrounded by people who loved her. Balian felt as if he'd run out of tears, and Barisian simply didn't understand that his mother was never going to wake up again. The little boy kept on asking about her, and Balian did not know how to explain the idea of death to a two-year-old.

In the man's mind, a plan was forming. He knew he could not stay in the Holy Land. This place held too much pain and bitter memories, and it wasn't safe. Richard was still hunting for them. It was time for Balian to go home.

Imad could guess what was on his Frankish friend's mind, and he had every intention of thwarting that plan. Through some obscure investigation, he'd discovered that through his paternal grandmother, Balian was a distant cousin of King Philippe of France. Barisian now had something else to back his claim to the throne of Jerusalem. From a personal point of view, this was bad, but Balian's presence in the Holy Land meant that there would be continuous turmoil amongst the Crusaders. For the Muslims, this was a great political advantage. Imad was, above all, a subject of the Sultan. He would put his master before everything, including the bonds of friendship. The spymaster would do his best to convince Balian to stay. He couldn't guarantee success, but at least he would've tried to do what was best for his people and his faith.

* * *

**A/N:** Now, Balian wants to go back to France, and he can only do that by crossing the ocean. Each time he's gone on any sort of voyage in a seagoing vessel, he has gotten into trouble. Any guesses as to where he'll end up this time? (Hint: It's _not_ France)

Anyway, it's mostly dialogue this time — it's one of those in between chapter which need to be written to prepare for the excitement to come. Hope I didn't bore anyone.


	12. A Plan of Action

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Paris, Achilles, Will, Jack, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 11: A Plan of Action**

With more than just a little doubt, Faramir led Paris down to the dungeons where the condemned and the soon–to-be-condemned awaited death. There was an ominous aura around these men. Their dark predatory eyes gleamed with malicious curiosity.

"Do you trust me?" Paris murmured to Faramir.

"Not really," replied the Steward "but the King and Legolas seemed to think you are the right man for this task, and I trust them, so by logic, I ought to trust you."

"That's comforting to know." Paris took a deep breath, very much aware of the risk he was taking. "You, listen up!" he said loudly to catch the convicts' attention. "You are men doomed to die, and the world knows that you don't deserve to live, but the King is a kind a merciful man, and he is giving you a second chance."

"That's a novelty," drawled someone in the shadows. "Merciful kings —I've yet to encounter one."

"Why do you say that?" said Paris, taken aback by the man's calm and civilized tone. This was no common criminal, the prince could tell.

"Why?" The man's laugh was as dry as the dead branches of the White Tree. "Because there has never been a king in history who has looked kindly upon wretches like me. We're criminals, lordling; the scum of the world. Kings would rather hang us than pity us."

"He's the most dangerous of all the men here," whispered Faramir to Paris. "He's robbed three towns, and killed seventeen elite guards while attempting to break into the treasury. He didn't even blink when he was sentenced to death. I think we ought to leave him well alone."

"I think there's more to him under that killer's facade," said Paris. "He's the type of man we need." He turned back to the condemned men, who were now rather interested. If anything, this was interesting. They hardly had any entertainment down here.

"The King has agreed to spare your lives, on one condition. You must fight for Gondor. For the past year, corsairs have been menacing her shores. You are going to help us build a fleet to fight these pirates. If we succeed and defeat the pirates, your lives will be spared, and you will be free to go."

"Build a fleet?" said the man in the shadows. "How would you do that, lordling? The world knows that Gondor has no respectable ship to speak of. Gondorians are not sailors. You have good ideals, but they in turn are full of holes."

"We're going to commandeer a fleet," said Paris coldly. He'd had enough of being called a 'lordling', which was derogatory at the very least. "If you're not interested, you're free to stay here and wait for death."

The man got up and walked to the bars. Judging from his features, he was definitely not a Gondorian. "Commandeer, as in steal?" said the man. He had a strong nose with flared nostrils, and lips which would be called sensuous. His hair was cropped, and there were tattoos on both of his bearded cheeks.

"He's Haradrim," said Faramir. "Prince Paris, I do not think it is a good idea to let him join this venture. He can easily run back to his master."

"Master?" The man seemed incensed. He spat on the ground. "I have no master, and I will fight anyone who insists that I do."

"And are we supposed to believe that you tried to raid the treasury of your own accord?' said Faramir. "What thief would take such a risk?"

"Believe what you will, but yes, I decided that I wanted your gold. That usurper on the throne of Harad has never commanded me, he does not command me and he will never command me!" That was spoken with such fervour that Faramir had little reason to doubt the man's hate towards this 'usurper', whoever he might be.

"Faramir," said Paris, still eyeing the man. "He is the epitome of what we need."

The prisoners were released, and they followed the two lords out of the dungeons, escorted by a contingent of elite guards. Their shackles were not removed until they swore on the pain of eternal damnation that they would not betray the King's trust. Paris seemed to be taking the risk of assuming that these men's oaths were worth something. It was little comfort for Faramir.

The Haradrim, out in the light of day, did not seem so menacing anymore. Paris deemed himself a good judge of men, and he could see a certain sort of sadness in the man's eyes. "What's your name?" he asked him.

"I have no name," said the man "and I shall have none until the usurper is dead."

"I must be able to call you something other than Haradrim," said Paris.

The man thought for a while. "You may call me Xerxes," he said.

* * *

Despite Imad's impressive powers of persuasion, Balian refused to change his mind about returning to France. "That is where I belong," said the Frank. "There is nothing more for me in the Holy Land, Imad. It's too big for a man like me."

"Balian," said Imad, deciding to try the truth and appeal to Balian's selfless nature "forgive me, but you can make this place into the paradise it ought to be. Your son is the rightful heir to the Crusader throne. You are his father, so by right, you ought to be his regent. Think about it, my friend. You can stop this mindless conflict and bring peace as Baldwin did."

'And even if you don't manage that, you will still weaken the Crusaders considerably,' he thought.

"My son is the reason why I am reluctant to stay here," said Balian. "It is too dangerous for him. He is but a little boy. To put him on the throne would be to cast him into a sea of flames and on a mountain of blades. Be honest with me, Imad. Would you do this to an innocent child? If Barisian was your son, would you cast him into suffering while he is naught but a babe?"

"As a man, I would say now," said Imad quietly "but as the Sultan's subject and a servant of my faith and my people, I would force myself to say yes, even though it makes my heart bleed."

Balian's face grew hard and he set his chin. His brown eyes were fiery with a father's protective love. "I would never let anyone sacrifice my son on the altar of politics," said the Frank, "not unless all life has left my body and my flesh is stripped from my bones."

Imad knew defeat when he saw it, and he did not further press the matter. Why lose the man's friendship when it would gain him nothing?

"If that is your decision, then I will help you, my friend," he said. "Ashkelon is the only Christian port that you can go to. It is far enough from Jerusalem for you to be simply another Frank. From there, you can get a safe passage back to France, but I must say, Balian, you must ride through the desert to avoid detection. Are you certain you want to brave the desert sands?"

"I'm sure I prefer the desert to politics," said Balian. "I'll tell Andromache and Cassandra. The sooner we can leave, the better."

Imad sighed. "I'll see to it, Balian," said the Saracen. "You go and prepare yourself for your journey."

* * *

Cassandra had known that they would not stay in Jerusalem and live off Imad's hospitality forever, but the thought of going to Balian's homeland and living with him alarmed her. Despite her anger, love had not loosened its grip on her. It would be torment to be so close to Balian and at the same time so far from him. However, she had no choice. Their fate lay in his hands, and the hands of the gods.

Andromache understood Balian's need to leave Jerusalem. The man was haunted by grief. He'd laid one wife to rest and then he'd promptly lost another. Such pain must be like knives on his heart. "Of course we'll go to France with you," she said when he asked her about it. "Hector entrusted us into your care, and we certainly can't live off Lord Imad's hospitality for the rest of our lives." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You need to leave your sorrow behind, my dear friend."

"I hope I can," he said. "Do you think going to France will help?"

"I don't know," said Andromache honestly. "We'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

The day was overcast when they left the city, disguised as traders. Andromache was glad that the clouds hid the suns' glare. The clothes which Imad had procured for the women's disguises —_hijab_, he'd called them— were voluminous, heat absorbing, and stifling. Only their eyes, hands and feet were seen. Balian was wearing a black turban. He looked odd, in an adorable way, or so Cassandra thought. His face was red with the heat and sweat trickled down from his brow. Only Imad and the children seemed comfortable. The former was used to the climate, and the latter was not required to wear as many clothes as the adults.

As young as they were, Astyanax and Barisian seemed to know that something was going on. Barisian wondered why they were leaving his mother behind. Yes, he knew that she was asleep, but couldn't his Papa wake her up or carry her? He was so big and strong. It shouldn't be that hard for him.

The women and children were riding in a closed wagon. There were barrels of spices and wine to support their guises as traders, and within the folds of their clothes, they had hidden gold. That was always useful, no matter where you were.

"Auntie," said Barisian, looking up at Andromache. "Where Mama?"

"Hush, darling," said Andromache, pulling the child into her lap, where Astyanax was sitting, playing with the wooden lion that Hector had carved for him. "Your mother is with the gods." She still could not see the difference between deities and angels. Cassandra did not even endeavour to explain that there was a difference. She wanted no part in a conversation which concerned Sibylla, the dead woman who'd snared Balian's heart. The girl could not even bear to look at Barisian for long, knowing that he was the fruit of Balian and Sibylla's love.

"God?" said Barisian in confusion. That was a word that he did not know, and the last part of the word was awfully hard to say, so he had left it out. Andromache grimaced as she realized she would now have to explain religious matters to a two year old, and moreover, she knew nothing about his father's religion. No doubt Balian would not approve of his son adopting a religion which he did not believe in.

"Your papa will teach you," she said finally, giving the boy a kiss on his cheek. Barisian did not seem satisfied by that answer. Rescue came in the form of Astyanax, who'd decided that it was his turn to be in the centre of attention. He growled and shoved his lion at Barisian, who squealed. Soon the two little boys were immersed in their games. The issue of gods and death had been set aside in favour of wooden animals.

* * *

Imad shielded his eyes from the sun. There was a cloud of dust, nay, a _wall_ of dust in the distance, and it was coming straight towards them. "Allah have mercy on us!" he said in rapid Arabic. "Do the desert djinn really exist?" He'd thought that the stories of djinn were all products of heathen superstition, but now he wasn't so sure. "Sandstorm!" he cried, reverting back to the Frankish tongue. "Get inside the wagon!"

Balian scrambled in after Imad. The sandstorm hit them like a missile from an otherworldly catapult. They could feel the wagon being lifted off the ground and thrown about like a leaf in the wind. "Hold on!" cried Imad, grabbing Cassandra as she was about to slide out of the wagon. The roaring of the storm drowned out his words, but they didn't need anyone to tell them that.

Andromache held the two frightened children against her bosom, and Balian held her to protect all three as well as he could, shielding them with his own body. He winced as a barrel full of wine hit his back, most likely leaving the beginnings of what would later be a huge bruise. The wine burst out from the barrel and soaked him.

As suddenly as it had manifested, the storm died down. The wagon landed with a splintering crash. Balian let out a breathless 'oomph' as he landed on his back, with Andromache and the children on top of him. The two little boys were crying with fear. Barisian clambered out of Andromache's hold and wrapped his arms around his father's neck. The little boy buried his face into Balian's shoulder. And then he sneezed as he breathed in some of the spilled spices.

Imad climbed to his feet, spitting, coughing and sneezing. His eyes were shut and watering. He'd been lucky enough to get chilli powder all over him.

Andromache scrambled off Balian. She too, was soaked, but not just in wine. Frightened children had a way of having unfortunate accidents. She grimaced as she realized she smelled like a midden. There was some spicy yellow powder in her hair. She vaguely remembered Imad saying something about 'curry' from a place called 'India'.

By some miracle, no one was seriously hurt. They were a bit bruised, but no one was bleeding, unless Balian's reopened shoulder wound was counted. The blacksmith got to his feet with his son still clinging to him like a climbing pea plant. "It's all right, little one," he said to the child, rubbing his back soothingly. "I'm here. Nothing's going to hurt you."

One by one, they got out of the broken wagon, pushing aside barrels and getting covered in spices. The blacksmith found himself looking at a strangely familiar green plain dotted with tussocks, and a menacing dark forest rising just behind him. The trees groaned. Imad leapt in fright.

Despite their unfortunate and problematic situation, Balian began to laugh. Everyone looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Welcome to Fangorn Forest, my friends," he said.

"And I suppose we'll get to see the walking talking trees," said Imad, only half doubting his friend's story.

"Actually, Imad, they're ents."

Just as well they were at the edge.

* * *

Elizabeth rested her head on Will's shoulder as they strolled side by side in the gardens. Due to Aragorn's expertise, Will was well on his way to becoming fully recovered. Willie was skipping ahead, examining every new plant. She sighed contentedly as she led Will over to a stone bench. They both sat down. She put her hand on the warm stone and leaned backwards, letting the sun bathe her face. Will was admiring her. She knew it and she was enjoying every moment. And then she felt something tickling the back of her hand. The former Pirate King glanced down nonchalantly, then she leapt up and shrieked in a manner which was most unbefitting of a pirate, let alone the King of the Brethren Court.

"What's wrong, Elizabeth?" said Will in alarm, afraid that his wife was hurt.

"Kill it!" screamed Elizabeth, jumping and shaking her hand until the unfortunate little creature with eight legs fell off in a daze.

Will was speechless as he stared at Elizabeth's attacker, which was busy crawling away as far as possible from the relatively big screaming being. He finally found his voice. "Elizabeth, sweetheart," he said. "It's a spider. Aren't you...overreacting just a bit?"

"That's exactly the point!" said Elizabeth as she wiped her hand furiously. "It's a _spider_."

Willie came over and picked up the spider. Elizabeth shrank back nervously. Little boys were prone to playing pranks. As much as she loved her son, she knew that he'd been influenced by Jack and Barbossa. Who knew what he would do with that disgusting creepy eight-legged thing? "Well, it is almost a quarter of an inch long," said Willie, peering at the spider closely. He poked it. "You know, Mama, it's actually very interesting. Did you know that spiders have eight eyes? Well, that's what Uncle Jack-Jack said...Papa, you don't know her. Mama is very very scared of spiders. There was this spider once, and it was the size of an ant, and Mama..."

Will chuckled as he imagined his brave Elizabeth screeching at the sight of a miniscule spider.

"All right, William Turner," said Elizabeth. Both the men in her life glanced at her with mischievous guilt. They didn't know exactly which William she meant. "That's enough. Didn't I ever tell you it is not polite to laugh at a lady?"

"The Cap'n laughs at you all the time, Mama," said Willie indignantly.

"Barbossa isn't exactly the best role model for a respectable young man," said Elizabeth. She'd forgotten how many times she'd said that.

"But I don't wanna be a respectacle young man," said Willie. "I wanna be a pirate, and spectacles are for granddads."

Will clutched his stomach. He was hurting from laughing so much.

* * *

Down in the practise yards, the newly recruited convict-turned-sailors were pretending to practise their knot-tying skills whilst they watched the two commanders —a certain Captain Sparrow and a Captain Barbossa— cursing at each other and almost coming to blows. The man called Xerxes shook his head. If the King of Gondor wanted to build a navy with those two men in charge, he was disillusioned.

Paris was attempting to mediate, but he feared that too much involvement might end up with him losing a piece of himself.

"I am captain!" said Jack. "I always have been!"

"You forget, Jack Sparrow, that we deposed of you last time we made you governor of that little island in the middle of nowhere!" snarled Barbossa, shaking a half-eaten apple at the other pirate and spraying Jack's face with spittle and juice. Jack the monkey eyed the apple hopefully. His master didn't seem to want it anymore, and he was wondering if he could have it instead.

"Well, that shows you're a mutinous cretin but I'm still captain, and it's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, you...you with the scraggly beard!"

Gibbs had long since despaired of this idea ever working and had gone to find a tavern with good beverages. Achilles was joining in with the shouting even though he knew nothing about naval warfare. Anna-Maria was sulking because she had not been included when the sailors had been recruited. Let the King see what a bad idea it had been commissioning these two men.

Ragetti and Pintel were standing to the side, laying bets. "Who do you think win this?" asked Ragetti gleefully.

"Oh, I'm puttin' five pieces o' eight on Barbossa," said Pintel.

"Don't be too sure of it, Pin," said Ragetti. "I'm rootin' for Cap'n Jack."

"Barbossa's got the brains."

"Jack's got the luck."

"I knew it would be interesting," said Pippin with a wry smile. Merry was not so amused.

"We don't need entertainment..." said the Brandybuck "well, maybe we do, but not from two naval commanders!"

"This is hopeless!" said Paris. He stalked off to find Aragorn. The King needed to appoint a new commander, and the prince of Troy knew just who he would recommend. There was only one reasonable choice after all.

* * *

Aragorn, flanked by Legolas, Paris and Faramir, strode into the gardens of the Houses of Healing. Will was surprised to see them. Aragorn was a king after all. What time did a king have for a man like him?

"Will?" said Aragorn. "How are you feeling?"

Will bowed awkwardly. "I feel fine, sir, thanks to you," he said.

"Don't mention it," said Aragorn. He licked his lip nervously. "Will, I would like to ask a favour of you."

"A favour, Sire?" said Will with a blank look.

* * *

Legolas, acting as the King's herald, marched into the practise yards, with Will, Paris, Elizabeth, Anna-Maria, Gibbs, Achilles, Merry and Pippin behind him. Barbossa and Jack had finally come to blows with each other. "Stop this madness!" commanded the elf in his best 'prince' tone. The two pirates stopped hacking at each other and looked at him as if he was insane.

"By the order of the King," began Legolas "this naval force is to have an Admiral. His Majesty King Elessar, High King of Gondor and Arnor, has appointed—"

Every sailor held their breath. Barbossa was looking smug with certainty and Jack was grinning with confidence. Both were so sure that they would be Admiral.

"—William Turner, as the new Admiral of the Gondorian Navy. The entire navy is to submit to his command, and he shall be answerable only to the King and the Steward."

There was a wave of protest, well, from two of the men. "What sort of nonsense are you talkin' about?" demanded Jack. "The Whelp can't be Admiral! He ain't got no experience...an'...an' he's still recoverin', savvy?"

"Master Turner can make a decent First Mate at the very best!" said Barbossa in exactly the same time.

"If you have any problems, take it up with the King," said Paris, stepping out from behind Legolas.

"It's obvious that the only man who can be appointed is Will Turner," said Anna-Maria acidly. "Look at you two! Barbossa, you're a villain with an addiction to apples, and Jack is...well, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

"Exactly," said Elizabeth. "He can't very well be Admiral Jack Sparrow if he's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

"Sometimes, I wish I'd let Barbossa cut your throat," muttered Jack.

"This all be your doin', isn't it, Prince Paris?" said Barbossa with a grim smile.

"I might've mentioned it," said Paris innocently. His heart was thudding wildly, like the hooves of a galloping horse. Barbossa was not a man one would like to cross.

And he'd added Jack to the explosive mixture.

* * *

**A/N:** Darn. Still unable to get started on the raids. At least everyone who's meant to be in Middle Earth is there now, and the Gondorian Navy has an Admiral.


	13. Darkness Looms

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Paris, Achilles, Will, Jack, Merry, Pippin ...you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 12: Darkness Looms**

Imad had never seen so much green grass in his life. It stretched on endlessly, like a carpet laid down by God's own divine hand. How many tribes could this place support? Certainly, he doubted there would be any more disputes over water and grazing land.

The only bad thing about this place was the cold and the perpetual rain. Balian had said it was probably because it was winter. Whatever the reason for the rain was, they were soaked. Imad sneezed. His Frankish friend might be accustomed to such climates, but he definitely wasn't. "Where's the nearest...village?" he asked.

"I don't know," replied Balian. He held a shivering Barisian very closely, trying to warm the child with his own body heat. "I've never been to a Rohirrim village before, but Edoras, the capital city, is in this direction."

"Are you sure?" said Imad. "You did say you were semi-conscious when riding to Edoras."

"I was wounded. That does not necessarily mean that my mind was not functioning."

"Does it ever function?"

"More than yours does, I guess."

The man's adventures in those other worlds certainly had given an edge to his humour. He'd never been that sarcastic or so quick with his tongue. "How far is it?" Imad asked, to change the subject. He was in no mood for witty banter.

"Without horses?" Balian grimaced as he did some quick calculations in his head. "It's going to take days." He glanced up at the sky. More rain seemed to be on its way. "I guess we need to find shelter for the night now."

They'd stripped the oilcloth covering from their broken wagon. Now, Balian and Imad both stabbed their swords into the wet ground and draped the cloth over it to make a rudimentary tent, with rocks holding the edges down. It was not particularly spacious, but it was shelter, although no one could find a way to avoid lying on the cold wet ground. Miserable, cold, and muddy, they huddled together —something which Imad found most inappropriate, due to his Muslim sensibilities, but necessary for warmth. The children complained about their discomfort, but their tiredness quickly sent them to sleep.

Balian kept watch as the sun sank beneath the horizon. It was more out of habit than necessity, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something wrong, even though Sauron was gone and most of the orcs were scattered. After all, there was always a chance of a stray orc party happening upon them, and they would be defenceless.

Imad glanced at his friend, a dark silhouette against the blackening sky. 'I hope your inexplicable and illogical luck holds, my friend,' he thought. 'I have a feeling we're going to need it.'

* * *

Will watched his men go through their drill, and he was proud of them. Soon, they would be ready to fight the corsairs. Upon his appointment, he'd taken on two new captains; Captain Elizabeth Swann and Anna-Maria. This surprising and somewhat controversial move had been the talk of the city. How could women be naval officers?

Even Aragorn had had his doubts at first, but Legolas had assured him that these two would be very good at their jobs. As usual, the elf had been right.

Under Elizabeth and Anna-Maria's watchful eyes, the men had honed their raiding skills. Willie acted as the errand boy, fetching things for his parents, his Uncle Jack-Jack, Miss Anna-Maria and Captain Barbossa.

Gibbs took back his place as Jack's First Mate. Barbossa, due to a lack of choice, appointed Ragetti to be his second in command. That left Anna-Maria with Pintel.

Unfortunately, Jack's men soon acquired a taste for rum, like their captain. Other than that, they fought well, when they were sober.

Elizabeth's men learnt of other uses for rum besides the obvious one. There was much dispute between Captains Swann and Sparrow about the purpose of certain alcoholic beverages. Xerxes, to his surprise, had been assigned to Elizabeth's crew. He'd never taken orders from a woman before, with the exception of his lady mother when she'd been alive. Come to think of it, he'd hardly ever taken orders before he'd come to Gondor.

With the sailors otherwise occupied, Paris spent much of his time with Helen or in the library, trying to learn elvish. He was fascinated by the maps. Mordor had the most unusual geography. How could any one land be surrounded by so many mountains? It was a natural stronghold. It was a pity that it was tainted land.

The prince of Troy learnt most of the History of Middle Earth from his elvish friend and his dwarven companion. Those two were a veritable source of stories, even though their stories sometimes contradicted each other, especially when it concerned what had happened on the quest of the Ring.

Achilles had no interest in such academic pursuits. Having nothing better to do, he started learning the Gondorian style of fighting. Their swords were heavier, longer and more unwieldy than his own bronze one. He found it difficult to perform the quick tricky manoeuvres which were his specialty. No wonder Balian had been a less-than-graceful fighter. Grace was not a word one would associate with these long swords.

Helen was bored. Paris was often at his studies and she and Briseis had very little to talk about. She wished she was more like Elizabeth or Arwen or Anna-Maria. They were strong women not made for a life of servitude. Helen was tired of being known as a pretty face and Paris' wife.

During the day, she stalked the corridors. That was how she bumped into another lady, with fair hair, much like herself, but the similarity ended there.

"I am so sorry," said Helen. The lady had been carrying a pile of papers, and the impact had sent them flying everywhere.

"Don't worry about it," said the other woman, bending over to start gathering up the papers. Helen stooped to help her.

"I guess I was deep in thought," said Helen.

"I do that sometimes myself. You're not Gondorian, are you?"

"No, I'm Greek, but my husband is Trojan."

"I did hear about Merry and Pippin bringing a group of foreigners all the way from the Shire. Had I not been so busy with setting up our household, I would've come sooner to meet everyone. That man—swallow, sparrow? It was some sort of bird's name...

"Sparrow," said Helen. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

"Well, he sounded interesting, and he's gained more renown in a month than I have in a year." The woman laughed. "'Tis unfair, is it not, that so many doors are closed to those of the weaker sex?"

"The King of Gondor is a much fairer man than most," said Helen.

"That he is. Aragorn is a good man." She smiled. "How rude of me. We have been talking for so long and yet I don't even know your name, and you don't know mine."

"I am Helen, of Troy."

"I am Éowyn, formerly of Rohan, daughter of Éomund, sister to Éomer, and wife of Faramir."

"You are the famed Shieldmaiden? Balian has told us about you."

Éowyn stopped picking up papers. "You know Balian?" she said.

"Yes," said Helen. "He and my husband are close friends."

"How is he?"

"We were separated when we got pulled into Middle Earth. He jumped from the ship to save my sister by marriage and her baby son."

"Oh, that is just like him," said Éowyn. "I pray to the Valar that he and your sister and her baby are all right."

* * *

Two boys whooped as they raced their horses up the hillock. Éothain and his cousin Bréolas both knew very well that they should be back at the homestead helping Bréolas' father Ulfwine, but it was such a beautiful day. What normal boy could resist the call of the sun, especially after so much rain?

"I win, Bréo!" cried Éothain.

"No fair!" said the other boy. "Garulf has much longer legs than Frolga."

"Admit it! You're just not such a good rider!"

"Liar! I can ride loads better than you! You just have the better horse! What say we race again, hmm? And you can ride Frolga."

Éothain, however, was not listening. In the distance he could see four bedraggled figures, stumbling along on foot across the plain. "Uh, Bréo?" he said. "I think we have visitors."

"Are they a threat?" asked Bréolas.

"I don't think so," said Éothain "but you'd better ride back to the village and warn them, just in case."

"What about you?"

"I'll go and see who they are." He dug his heels into his horse's flanks.

* * *

Balian saw the rider. There was something odd. The proportion of the size of the rider compared to the size of his horse was not quite right. Then a young voice rang out, and he understood. "Hail, strangers!" said the boy, cantering towards them. "What is your business in the Mark..." The boy trailed off when he saw Balian. "Helms' horn!" said Éothain. "Sir Balian!"

"Éothain?" said Balian. "Good God, lad, I didn't recognize you!"

"I almost didn't recognize you either, sir," said Éothain, grinning. "You look like a regular peasant, covered in mud the way you are."

"Thank you," said Balian. "At least the mud shows me for what I really am."

"What are you doing here, sir? We all thought you were dead."

"Coincidence," said Balian. "Éothain, can I ask a favour of you?"

"Of course, sir," said Éothain.

"Could you perhaps let these two ladies ride? They are tired from a long journey."

"What about you sir? And your other friend? Aren't you tired?"

"We can manage," said Imad.

"Thank goodness my village isn't far," said Éothain "because you look like you're going to keel over any moment like an overworked horse, sir, if I may say so."

Andromache handed Astyanax to Cassandra, knowing that the girl would never agree to holding Barisian, and Balian was too tired to hold the child for much longer. At least on horseback, all she would need to do was balance Barisian in front of her.

"Horsie!" said Barisian, pointing at Garulf.

"Yes," said Balian. "That's a horse, Barisian."

"Papa wide horsie?" asked Barisian. He wanted to ride on the horse with his father.

"No, my darling," said Balian. "Papa is walking. Auntie rides."

Éothain watched this exchange with some interest. He didn't know that Balian had a son, well, not a live one. Everyone knew the man's tragedy. It had been retold before hearths over and over again in Rohan and Gondor. The Rohirrim boy did not ask about it. Balian would tell whatever he was willing to tell, and it was not right for children to delve into the lives of adults.

The village really wasn't far, and Balian was glad when he caught sight of little thatched cottages with smoke coming out of their chimneys. It wasn't so different from his village back in France. Chickens ran about underfoot, and so did skinny dogs and little children. Horses were tethered. The villagers, however, seemed to be ready for war, armed with scythes and hoes and other farming implements.

"No no!" said Éothain. "It's all right! These are friends!"

"Friends, Éothain?" said an old farmer.

"Yes, Uncle. This is Sir Balian, you know, the Knight of Helms Deep — the Defender of the Weak!"

"You have a lot of epithets, my friend," said Imad. "How do you remember them all?"

"I don't," said Balian.

"Balian?" said the old farmer. "Balian the Defender?"

"Sir Balian!" cried a little girl, running out from behind the old farmer and flinging herself at Balian. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Freda, let the man breathe," said Éothain.

"Hello, Freda," said Balian, grinning as he remembered the children of Rohan. They'd almost been like a family during that long march from Edoras to Helms Deep. "I almost didn't recognize you. You're turning into a fine young lady, I can tell."

Imad shook his head and sighed. Few men were gifted with the ability to charm female creatures of every denomination. Balian was one of those privileged few. At least his luck had held out, and they would be sleeping under a proper roof tonight, even though the Saracen nobleman doubted that they would be getting hot baths with rose scented water.

Barisian was getting annoyed. Balian was _his_ papa, not someone else's, and he shouldn't be paying so much attention to that other person. The little boy began to squirm in Andromache's arms. "Papa!" he said. "Me me me me me !" He reached out for Balian.

"All right, all right, _mon petit bonhomme_," said Balian, relieving Andromache of the fussing Barisian. "How can I ever forget you?"

"The way you're going, that boy is going to end up spoilt," said Imad.

"Have some sympathy, my friend," said Balian. Imad was startled by the sorrow which lingered in Balian's tired brown eyes. He'd obviously been hiding his grief very well. "He's just lost his mother. He needs a lot of love at the moment, and who will give it to him if not me?"

The villagers were silent as they listened to this clue which hinted at the latest tragedy in this man's life. What had happened? They all thought that his wife had died years ago, and they'd also thought that he had no family left. And yet, here was a little boy, calling him 'Papa'. People were curious by nature, and they were all anxious to find out what had happened.

Ulfwine cleared his throat. "Sir," he said. "You and your companions must be tired. Éothain, take them back to the house. Your mother is there, and she can look after them."

"Thank you, good sir," said Imad with a bow.

"You are most kind," added Balian.

Éothain's mother, Aethel, fussed over them as if they were all children. She made the men take off their wet garments and gave them clean ones of her brother's. "Ulfwine is a big man, so the clothes might be a bit baggy, but you're tall enough, I think, sir."

"Thank you, madam," said Balian. "I am glad to be dry."

Andromache and Cassandra were given Aethel's dresses to change into. They were much better suited to the climate of Rohan, and Andromache was grateful for the boots which protected her feet from the cold. Both Barisian and Astyanax wore one of Éothain's shirts like dresses. Thank goodness they were too young to be embarrassed.

After they'd been fed—hot rabbit stew for the adults; warm goat's milk for the children— Aethel insisted that they rest for the rest of the day. Too tired to argue, Balian did as he was told and promptly fell asleep on one of the straw-stuffed mattresses. "Papa sleepy," commented Barisian to Imad, pointing at the sleeping man.

"Yes, _amir_," said Imad. "Your father is very tired, and you should be too, because I am also sleepy."

"We should all be sleeping," said Andromache, settling down beside Astyanax.

Cassandra curled up against the wall, as far as possible from the others. Gods, _he _was so close, and so vulnerable and lovable, and yet, she could not have him. Was she doomed to torture herself forever with this love which she bore for a man who did not have it in him to love her back?

* * *

Jack had given his men the rest of the day off, and he was exploring Minas Tirith, with Legolas and Gimli as guides. They came to a stop before the monument of Balian, Boromir and Legolas. The elf pondered his friend's statue, and the inscription beneath him. It simply said 'Balian the Defender'.

"You know, my friends," said Legolas "Balian is a very humble man, and I do think that such a grand title might embarrass him when he sees it."

"What are you suggesting, laddie?" asked Gimli with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I was thinking perhaps we could make it say something else which won't embarrass him so much," said Legolas innocently. "What say you?"

"I think it's a good idea, my pointy-eared elvish princeling," said Gimli. "Let's go buy some paint."

Moments later, Legolas surveyed his handiwork. He'd written 'Nanny Balian' over the inscription in meticulous handwriting. He sniggered. This looked much better.

"I can't wait until he sees it," chuckled Gimli. "You'd better prepare your will, lad."

"As if he can best me," said Legolas with a grin. They strolled away, still laughing, leaving Jack standing before the monument with the pot of paint and the paintbrush. The pirate looked at the monument. It didn't seem fair to make fun of Balian alone. With that thought in his mind, he began to paint 'Nurse Legless' on Legolas' inscription.

* * *

"Tell you what, 'Arry," said Jack to Aragorn as Aragorn surveyed the latest addition to his armed forces. "I think we're ready to commandeer some ships. What do you say to that?"

"I'm just going to ask you if you're absolutely certain," said Aragorn.

"Your Majesty," said Barbossa. "I am ashamed to say that this time, I agree with Jack Sparrow—"

"Captain!_ Captain _Jack Sparrow!"

"—that we be ready to raid."

"I second that," said Elizabeth. "The men have worked hard for this day. I can't teach them any more than what they already know."

"And what does the Admiral say?" said Legolas, turning to Will.

"Barbossa and Jack and Elizabeth are right," said Will. "We are ready."

* * *

They waited for the cover of darkness. Will kept his spyglass fixed on the boat that was bobbing just offshore. The sailors were sleeping, drunk with victory and alcohol after a day of successful raiding. There were slaves tied on the deck, weeping with fear. Will couldn't wait until he could give those pirates a taste of their own medicine. He might have turned into a scallywag, but one thing he would not do is torment innocent people.

The sun slipped beneath the horizon. It was time. They all climbed under the little rowing boats and waded into the water. "This is madness," said Xerxes. As Elizabeth's First Mate, he was sharing a boat with his captain.

"Well it works," whispered Elizabeth. "Stop talking. You're wasting the air."

Legolas had decided to come along, and he shared a boat with Will. "You know, I'd never thought of Jack as genius," said the elf. "I guess I'll have to look at him differently from now on." He'd also come along because he had seen what Jack had done to _his _inscription and the elf dearly wanted revenge.

The water was warm and it would've been pleasant if it did not inspire his Sea-longing. He concentrated on putting one foot after the other. Soon, the anchor's chain was in sight. They dropped their boats, releasing large silvery pockets of air into the water. Clambering up the chain, they found the sailors totally unprepared for a surprise attack.

Elizabeth promptly engaged the captain in battle. He was large, with tattoos all over him, but she was faster. Still, she was slowly being pushed backwards. She tripped on a coil of rope and fell. The large corsair sneered in satisfaction and was about to finish her when a blur came between

them and a gash appeared on the man's tattooed neck. Dark blood sprayed everywhere. The man toppled onto the deck, dead.

Xerxes turned around to help Elizabeth. "Are you all right, Captain Swann?" he asked, helping her to her feet.

"I'm fine," said Elizabeth. "Thanks to you—" She was cut off as she grabbed her rescuer and flung him out of the way of someone coming from behind him. She ducked the thrown axe and plunged her sword into the corsair's belly.

"That's for trying to backstab someone!" she snarled.

Will, trying to free the Gondorian slaves, was engaged in battle with two men. He dodged a wild swipe and then hamstrung one of the men, sending him falling onto his knees with a cry. Ragetti flung Jack the Monkey at one of the pirates, and then shot another with his pistol.

Legolas' knives were a shining blur in the moonlight. He had no mercy for these men. They'd killed innocent people, raped, pillaged, plundered and burned. They deserved death.

Anna-Maria found herself being crushed by a particularly fat pirate whose lust had gotten the better of him. "I'm going to make you a little mistress of mine," he said with a leer. Try as she might, she did not have the strength to push the greasy pig off her.

"Let me go!" she screamed, clawing at him.

"Y'know mate, I'd listen to her if I were you," said the familiar nonchalant and dangerous voice of Jack Sparrow. He yanked the man's head up by the hair and slashed his throat.

Anna-Maria flung the bleeding corpse away, and Jack pulled her to her feet. "You all right, luv?" said Jack.

"Thank you, Jack," said Anna-Maria, gazing at him. What to make of him? She didn't know. Sometimes he was such a gentleman, and at other times, he was an absolute rogue. She loved and hated him. He confused her, and she didn't like being confused. It ruined her rational thoughts.

"I knew you'd warm up to me," said Jack, grinning and revealing a few golden teeth in the moonlight. Anna-Maria threw rational thought into the wind. She flung her arms around Jack and kissed him on the lips. They tasted of rum and salt.

There were appreciative wolf-whistles, particularly from Barbossa, Ragetti and Pintel. "What can be more fortuitous than to have a wedding on this newly commandeered ship?" said Barbossa.

"I'm a captain, Hector, and I can perform the _mar-i-arge _meself if I wanted to, savvy?"

"And are you going to?" said Will.

"Well, Whelp, that all depends on what Miss Anna-Maria here says," said Jack. "What do you say, Anna-Maria? Do you want to be Mrs. Sparrow?"

"I need to think about this," said Anna-Maria. Her face was burning. Why on earth had she kissed Jack, and in front of all these people? Had she been mad?

Legolas cleared his throat. "Well, the lady needs time to think about it," he said. "In the meantime, what are we going to call this beauty?" He patted the ship's rail.

"The _Black Opal_," said Jack

"The _Lady Swan_," said Will.

"The _Salty Wench_," said Barbossa.

"Oooh, I like that," said Jack, thinking about the salty wenches in Tortuga.

Legolas wish he'd simply gone ahead and named the ship himself. "Can't we call it something decent and Gondorian, like the _White Tree_ or something like that?" he said.

"_No_!" said a lot of voices in unison.

"This is a _ship_," said Will. "It can't be called a tree."

"What sort of name is the _White Tree_?" said Jack. "I might not like Barbossa, but I vote for the _Salty Wench_."

And therefore, with two votes, the name won, and the ship was christened the _Salty Wench_. Legolas was anticipating, with apprehension, how Aragorn would react to this.

However, the worst was yet to come.

Balian woke to the smell of burning thatch. Instinctively, he grabbed his sword with one hand and Barisian with the other. "What's happening?" asked Andromache as she fearfully clutched the still-sleeping Astyanax. This reminded her of the fall of Troy and she sincerely hoped that she was not in the middle of another war.

"Darkness," said Cassandra softly. She began to intone ominously:

_Darkness rises from the East. _

_One who was sent to save will now destroy_

_Evil rises from its slumber_

_For the Chosen One it will now employ._

_Oh weep, oh weep, ye sons of men,_

_For light has turned to dark. _

_No more joy shall you feel_

_No more singing of the lark. _

_They shall trap him by unnatural spells_

_The dark shall keep him in his hell_

_Can he fight them?_

_Only time can tell. _

_From friend to foe and foe to friend_

_Where is goodness now? _

_But friends must fight off deep despair_

_And hold onto his vow_

_He will see the world through a veil_

_Of pain and helplessness and anger. _

_And yet in this darkness there is hope_

_For a father's love shall prevail._

_To free him how, save by the sword_

_And the pouring out of blood? _

_Only one can save him, only Hades_

_Can put his soul at ease. _

_Shall love transcend the wall of death?_

_That is a mystery still._

_But hold onto the fading hope_

_That he will his task fulfil._

With that, Cassandra's eyes rolled backwards and she fell into deep unconsciousness. "What did she mean?" asked Andromache.

"I don't know, and I'm not that interested in finding out at the moment!" said Balian. "Get out of the house, all of you, and whatever you do, stay close!"

"Sir Balian!" cried Freda. "We're under attack! I can't find Éothain and Uncle Ulfwine, or Bréolas, or Mama!" Balian quickly handed Barisian to the girl. He couldn't fight well while holding a baby, and he was afraid that Barisian might get hurt in the skirmish.

"Keep him safe," he told the little girl "and stay close to me."

She nodded, fixing her wide frightened eyes on him. They rushed outside, with Imad carrying the unconscious Cassandra and bringing up the rear. "Allah," he muttered. "This is worse than the war back home."

Through the haze of smoke from the burning thatch houses, Balian could see the glint of polished armour. Their attackers were definitely not orcs, but men, and there was something familiar about their livery. One of them rushed at him, with his sword raised. Balian parried the blow with a circular manoeuvre and disarmed the man. His blade bounced off the man's armour harmlessly, so Balian went for another approach. He bodily pulled the man to the ground and crushed his windpipe with a hard stomp.

Andromache winced as she heard the crunch of cartilage. She'd known that Balian was a fierce warrior, but she'd never seen him in action, and his ferociousness frightened her. Thank the gods he had a pure soul. A man like that with a corrupted spirit could do a lot more evil than Agamemnon had ever dreamed of.

Villagers were screaming. In their panic, they ran in all directions, sometimes straight into the swords of the enemy. The smoke made Andromache's eyes water and it was difficult to see what exactly was going on. She kept close to Balian and Imad, just as they'd instructed. Holding Cassandra over his shoulder made fighting awkward, but the Saracen lord's blade was still deadly as he slashed tendons and arteries, spraying blood everywhere.

Balian was fighting yet another man. His side was bleeding from a shallow cut. His downward blow cleaved straight through the man's helmet and the blade became embedded in his skull. Before he could free his weapon, someone else was attacking him. The two men collided, and the force of the impact knocked them both to the ground, with Balian underneath the big armoured man. He grunted in pain as the man drove an armoured knee into his stomach, attempting to force it into his ribcage. They wrestled in the bloody mud. The man had his gauntleted hands around Balian's throat and Balian was attempting to push him off. The blacksmith clawed at the man's face with his fingers and pushed them deep into the man's eyes. The man screamed and fell back with his hands over his face. Balian scrambled to his feet, wheezing, and wiped the semisolid matter which covered his fingers onto his trousers. He yanked out his sword from the corpse's skull. His throat hurt too much to talk at the moment. He simply nodded at Andromache, Freda and Imad to show them that he was fine. The villagers were being overwhelmed. There seemed to be no hope when the ground suddenly shook with the sound of a thousand iron-shod hooves.

The Riders of Rohan had come. The attackers, who were now outnumbered, attempted to flee, but they were quickly cut down.

"Wulf!" cried Freda, recognizing Ulfwine's oldest son and her cousin as the captain of the contingent of riders.

"Freda?" said Wulf, leaping out of the saddle and going to his little cousin. "Oh by the manes of the Maeras, you're safe! Where are the others? Where's Father and Bréolas and Aunt Aethel and Éothain?"

"I don't know," said Freda. Her lower lip trembled.

"Now, now," said Wulf hurriedly. "Be a brave girl like the Lady Éowyn and don't cry. We'll find them." For the first time, he noticed the little boy that Freda was holding. "I don't believe we've been introduced," he said, indicating the child.

Freda sniffed. "This is Barisian. He's Sir Balian's son."

"Sir Balian's son?" said Wulf. "How can this be? He is dead, and I thought he had no family left."

"He's alive, and over there," said Freda, pointing.

Balian was staring at one of the bodies of their attackers lying beside their trampled standard. He now knew why their uniform and armour seemed so familiar. Embroidered on the standard was a white tree with seven stars above it.

Something was definitely wrong in Middle Earth.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, this is a complete whopper. I'm very bad at maths lately. Hope you enjoyed it, and that no one got sore eyes while reading. I'm also no good at poetry. Anyway, reviews? Please?

**amir** 'prince' in Arabic


	14. The Gondorian Pirate Fleet

****

Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission.

**Note: **I have made a companion music video for a part of this story which has yet to be written. You can see it here at _uk (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v (equals) v57TIYaWBl8_(without the spaces) and try to guess what it's all about. :P

**Smithy**, don't worry. I'm not planning on pairing up Balian with Cassandra. However, if I tried to pair him up with Briseis, I'd end up with a very angry Achilles on my hands, and besides, Balian's sworn to be faithful to Sibylla for all of eternity. He's not going to renounce his oath anytime soon.

**Chapter 13: The Gondorian Pirate Fleet**

Wulf turned his gaze to what Balian was staring at. The sight of the white tree and the seven stars above it drew a string of curses from his lips. "We'll make them pay!" he declared. His anger robbed him of reason. Balian turned to fix intense brown eyes on the young rider.

"Those responsible will pay," he assured the other man "but I do not believe that it is Gondor."

"But sir," said Wulf, waving his hand at the trampled flag and the bodies of Gondorians "the evidence is clear! It cannot be any more obvious!"

Balian took Barisian from Freda. The little boy was crying from fear. He gripped his father's shirt tightly in two tiny fists and pressed his ear against his heart to listen to the steady soothing heartbeat. Balian winced as his son accidentally brushed against his wound. It burned, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know where that blade had been before it had bitten his flesh. He was hurting all over, but his mind was clear. "I refuse to believe it," he said simply. "Wulf, get me a fresh horse. I ride for Minas Tirith."

"Wait, wait," said Imad incredulously. "You seriously do not intend to ride in this bedraggled state and leave us behind in the middle of nowhere, do you?"

"Imad, this is Rohan, the home of the horselords," said Balian. "It's hardly the middle of nowhere."

"Well, my Frankish friend, I for one am not letting you out of my sight. You simply do not understand the meaning of 'self preservation'."

Wherever you go, I'm going," said Andromache stubbornly. "You need someone to help you look after Barisian, and you can't leave him behind, can you?"

Balian glanced down at the little boy who was clinging to him as if he would never let go. Why was it that his friends were always right? He truly could not bear the thought of being parted from his son.

"Admit it, Balian," said Imad, lowering the unconscious Cassandra to the ground. You need rest, or you'll never make it to Gondor."

Balian finally consented. It was probably true. He was in no shape to travel for long. "Fine," he said. "I will put this off until tomorrow."

"In the mean time," said Andromache, having settled Astyanax comfortably in a makeshift crib "let me tend to your injury."

* * *

The next morning, true to his word, Balian set off for Minas Tirith without even considering stopping in Edoras. Wulf had told them that Éomer had gone to Gondor for some reason of which he was not certain, and Balian had no intention of revealing this information —which he deemed to be of utmost importance— to anyone except the monarchs of Rohan and Gondor. The trampled standard was tucked safely inside his tunic. He was accompanied by his friends, who were most reluctant to be left behind. Wulf's riders escorted them. The wind was cold when they set out, and the sky was dark with gathering clouds. Imad glanced up worriedly. Would the storm hit them before they reached their destination?

Barisian seemed totally unaware of the serious nature of their journey. He babbled in delight, strapped to his father's front. He liked the speed and the feel of a moving animal beneath him. The little boy was not afraid of falling. His papa was all powerful, and would never let him come to danger.

As he rode, one question kept on repeating itself in Balian's mind. Why would Gondor attack Rohan? Aragorn and Éomer were firm friends, that he knew, and as far as he was concerned, there was no bad blood between the two nations. It made no sense whatsoever. This only made him feel even more uneasy. Ever since his return, he'd felt that something was waiting just beyond the horizon for the right chance to strike. The west was still weak from the War of the Ring. Could they withstand this potential of a new threat?

"Tell me of the situation in Middle Earth," he demanded of Wulf.

"There isn't much to say," said the rider. "There have been frequent sightings of stray orc parties, but they haven't attacked anyone yet, as far as we know. Oh yes, recently, I have heard tell that Masters Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took brought a group of strangers to Edoras. I don't know much about them, except that one of their company had the name of a bird. It was Swift, or Swallow..."

"Sparrow?" said Balian, hazarding a guess and not even daring to hope.

"Yes, that's it. Sparrow. A Captain something Sparrow."

"Jack Sparrow," said Balian. A grin was beginning to form on his face. He was hoping that his other friends were with Jack as well. Ever since they had been separated, he'd worried about them.

"Captain Sparrow is in Middle Earth?" said Andromache, who'd overheard the men. If the pirate was here, then there was a chance that the rest of her husband's family was here as well.

"It seems like it," said Balian. "Personally, I cannot imagine him in this place."

"Reports say that they went to Gondor with King Éomer," said Wulf. "Why they went, I do not know."

"All the more incentive to go to Gondor then," said Balian, nudging his gelding with his heels and urging it into a faster gait.

* * *

The captured corsairs were chained together on the deck. Will hugged Elizabeth tightly and kissed her on the mouth, not caring who saw. "We did well, Mrs. Turner," he said as he released her.

"It's Captain Swann, Admiral Turner," said Elizabeth jokingly.

"Oh please," muttered Jack and Anna-Maria, conveniently forgetting that they had been doing exactly the same thing not so long ago. "Get a cabin."

"Jack, we're married," Will pointed out.

"This ship needs colours," said Barbossa. He gave Elizabeth a conspiratorial wink.

"Xerxes!" called Elizabeth. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" said Will suspiciously. What plan did his wife and Barbossa have?

"You'll see, Admiral," said Anna-Maria, grinning. It seemed she was privy to the plan as well. The sailors under the three captains smiled. They were looking forward to this, for they certainly had worked hard on it.

Xerxes produced a folded piece of black fabric. He unfurled it with a flourish. "Behold, the colours of the Gondorian navy," he said, managing to keep a straight face. On the black flag was a skull, with a branch of the White Tree and a cutlass crossing beneath it. Above the skull were the seven stars of Gondor.

Will snorted with laughter, and Jack spat out a mouthful of rum in surprise. Legolas' eyes were wide with disbelief. "No!" he shouted. "No no no no no! You _cannot_ have that as the Gondorian navy's insignia!"

"Well, I be thinkin' it be perfect," said Barbossa defensively. "We be pirates after all, Master Greenleaf, and you can't take that from us."

"It will definitely put fear into the hearts of our enemies," Elizabeth pointed out. She turned to her husband. "What do you think, Will?"

Will thought it was a most inappropriate standard for any royal navy, but he did not want to offend his wife. She was not one whom he would like to cross. For one, her temper was every bit as fiery as Barbossa's. "Well," he began carefully. "It's very creative, and inclusive, you know, incorporating the symbols of pirates _and_ Gondor."

"See, Leggy?" said Jack. "Even the uptight Whelp likes it. I says we vote. Who's for the flag?"

Almost all of the sailors raised their hands. They had been less-than-honourable men once, and this roguish symbol appealed to their rebellious spirits. Only Legolas seemed to be against it.

"Democracy, mate," said Jack, patting the elf on the back. Legolas scowled at him, but he could not do anything. He knew when he'd lost.

"Turn her 'round!" shouted Barbossa, Jack and Will at the same time. "Back to Gondor!"

"I'm captain!" Barbossa and Jack shouted at each other.

"Excuse me," said Will "but I believe that the king made me _Admiral_." He was duly ignored by the two other pirates, who were glaring at each other.

"You took me _Pearl_, so this is _my_ ship," said Jack.

"Well, I ain't got the _Pearl_ right now, have I?" said Barbossa. Will sighed and went to the helm. By the time Jack and Barbossa finished their latest discussion about who was what, they would probably be back in Gondor.

* * *

Aragorn was reading through some documents when Faramir rushed in, grinning. "Good news, your majesty," he said. "Admiral Turner and his sailors have returned, victorious."

"Truly?" said Aragorn, leaping to his feet. "That is good news indeed. Where are they now?"

"Still on the ship, at the docks," said Faramir. "The messenger wasn't able to say much. Undoubtedly he was shocked by the success. He urges you to go and see for yourself."

"Of course I will go and see," said Aragorn, running out of the door. He'd been looking for some excuse to escape the confines of the study.

The grooms hurriedly prepared the horses for their Steward and King. They were surprised when Aragorn, impatient to be gone, saddled his horse himself. "Just because I'm king doesn't mean I cannot handle tack," he said, swinging into the saddle. It felt good to be riding outside the city. Their horses' hooves ate up the grassy ground, while the King's Guard followed behind them.

The docks came into view and with them, a magnificent vessel of Haradrim make. The men were busy painting words onto the side in Westron. Faramir saw the name 'salty we...', but what truly caught his attention, and Aragorn's, was the flag flying from the mast. It was hideous.

The King let out a string of most un-kingly curses in Westron, Quenya, Sindarin, and even dwarvish. "For the love of the Valar!" he said. "What is _this_?!"

"The ship's colours," said Legolas, rolling his eyes. "Truly, Estel, I tried to stop them. Needless to say, it didn't work."

"Admiral Turner!" shouted Aragorn. "Can you please explain?"

"It was chosen by voting," said Will apologetically. "I thought it best not to cause a mutiny over the issue of a flag."

"This is the Gondorian Navy, not the Gondorian _Pirate Fleet_!"

"Why not?" said Jack. "Pirates to fight pirates. I thought we'd agreed on that."

"Aye," said Barbossa. "The pirate is in our blood, so there's no takin' that from us."

"Aye!" cried the sailors in agreement.

"I knew this was a mistake," muttered Faramir.

"Besides," said Elizabeth "it can put fear into the hearts of our enemies."

"It's putting fear into _my_ heart, Captain Swann," interjected Legolas. "We won't even have to fight. The enemy can laugh themselves to death. The perfect solution, right?"

"Really, Legolas," said Elizabeth. "It's not that bad. Don't exaggerate."

"Oh, it's bad," said Aragorn. "There's a skull on it."

"What's wrong with skulls?" demanded Jack. "You've got one, ain't you?"

"His doesn't exactly have the seven stars of Gondor above it, Jack Sparrow," said Legolas.

"And yours is full of air," retorted the pirate. "You never remember that it's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

Ragetti finished painting the 'n' and moved onto the 'c'. Aragorn glanced at the ship's name. "What...what _are_ you calling my ship?" he said.

Xerxes deliberately started on the 'h', just to see what would happen.

"Oh no, you don't," said Faramir, horrified. "You wouldn't dare..."

"The _Salty Wench_?!" said Aragorn.

"'Tis a good name," protested Jack. "The ship is a _she_ and therefore _Wench_. She goes a-sailin' on the ocean, and so she's salty, savvy?"

"Not savvy," said Legolas. "This is a naval ship, not a pirate vessel."

"She be crewed by pirates!" said Barbossa.

Things were beginning to get ugly when Will stepped in. "When we raid, you don't want the enemy to know that we work for Gondor, do you, your majesty?"

"No," said Aragorn slowly.

"They'll never recognize this flag as being one of a Gondorian ship," reasoned Will "but at the same time, you will be able to identify us. Isn't that for the best?"

"Good one, Admiral Whelp," muttered Jack.

"You owe me a drink then, I guess?" whispered Will.

"You wish. You burnt me rum."

"It was _my_ rum."

"No it wasn't. I was talkin' 'bout that time you blew up Jones' terrible beastie."

"What else was I supposed to do? Row away?"

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel," said Legolas, lifting his eyes to the sky in despair. "Of all the things you can argue about, you argue about _rum_."

"Rum?" said Aragorn in confusion. "That's vile stuff. I wouldn't touch it on the pain of death." The King of Gondor might have seen almost everything there was to see in Middle Earth, but he decided that he still had a lot to learn about pirates, especially ones who went by the name of Captain Jack Sparrow.

* * *

Minas Tirith loomed before them, a city of white. Its gates were open and welcoming. Imad was not aware of his mouth going slack. He was too amazed at this magnificent sight. There was nothing that could compare to this back home. The city itself seemed to touch the heavens. He could not even properly see the citadel. Everything was made from white stone. Where did they find so much white stone, at any rate?

"By Zeus' thunderbolts," breathed Cassandra. "This is...impossible. It's what the palace at the top Olympus what to be, but this was built by the hands of mortal men...Balian, your words do not do it justice at all." For a moment, she could forget her anger against him.

"I have not been gifted with the gift of words, Cassandra," said Balian. "Besides, no words can describe the magnificence of Middle Earth. You have not seen Lothlorien. Now that is truly a sight to behold." He urged his horse through the gates. Leaving them no time to adequately appreciate the view, he rode up, and up, and up, through stone archways and up stone steps. The hooves of their horses clattered and echoed. Imad was beginning to wonder when they would reach their destination when Balian finally came to a halt in the middle of a white courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard was a white tree, or what remained of one.

"How in God's name did anyone manage to get a ship up here?" said Balian, forgetting about everything else for the moment.

* * *

Faramir heard someone shouting in the White Tree's courtyard. The voice was familiar. Where had he heard it before? He went outside to investigate. There, in staring up at the tree and the boat, was his long lost friend, holding a dark-haired child, and he had an entire entourage of Rohirrim with him.

"Balian?" he said. "I am not dreaming, am I?"

Balian turned. "Faramir!" he exclaimed. "It's good to see you, my friend."

Imad eyed the man who'd just run into the courtyard and was now embracing the Frank. So this was the Faramir who'd almost been immolated alive by his own father. He wasn't quite sure what to make of him. Being a spymaster, Imad was naturally suspicious. And Balian was quite right about that destroyed tree. How did a boat end up in the tree, and weren't trees supposed to be green?

Cassandra made the mistake of looking over the edge of the parapet. The height made her dizzy and weak at the knees. She hastily took a few steps backwards, just in case she stumbled. The princess had no desire to fall that distance.

"And who's this?" said Faramir, turning to Barisian. The little boy buried his face in Balian's shoulder. Strangers scared him, especially strange big men.

"This is Barisian," said Balian proudly, although his voice seemed to be tinged with sorrow. "He's my son."

"Your son?" said Faramir, looking at his friend questioningly.

"Mine, and Sibylla's," said Balian.

"And where is she?" asked Faramir, looking around. His eyes fell on Andromache, and he wondered if she was Balian's queen. However, she was carrying another baby who looked too old to be Barisian's brother.

"She's..." Balian bit his lip and shook his head. "She's at peace."

"Oh, I am sorry," said Faramir, touching Balian gently on the shoulder. The Steward decided that it would be a bad idea to further pursue the subject of Balian's dead lover. Instead, he tried to befriend Barisian, with little success.

"He's a little shy," explained Balian, ever the affectionate father. "He was scared of me at first, weren't you, _mon petit_?"

"We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other, now that you're back," said Faramir. "Who are your friends? Is that a Haradrim?" The Steward of Gondor scrutinized the swarthy man. He was tall, and wiry, like a Haradrim warrior, and there was nothing to say that he was _not_ Haradrim.

"No, Faramir," said Balian hurriedly. Being mistaken for a Haradrim was probably not a good thing, as he'd learnt from experience. "This is Imad, Imad ibn Baybar. He's the man who spared my life at Kerak."

"And also the man who tried to rob him of his horse in the desert," said Imad, offering a hand to Faramir.

"So you are the best spymaster in the known world," said Faramir, shaking the man's hand firmly. "Balian has sung your praises."

"Oh dear," joked Imad. "You must have enjoyed that. My Frankish friend is a great bard, as everyone knows."

"I'm not sure I do," said Faramir, smiling. He was warming to Imad already. The man had a good sense of humour. Faramir was someone who enjoyed witty debates.

"I've heard that you have Jack Sparrow here," said Balian.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Faramir. "However, he is not _here_ as such. He's busy with his royal commission."

"Did I just hear wrongly, or did you just say that Aragorn hired Jack?" said Balian.

"You heard me correctly. He's a naval officer, under the command of Admiral William Turner, and accompanied by Captains Barbossa, Swann, and, uh, Anna-Maria."

Balian wasn't sure who the last two were, but this certainly sounded interesting. He was about to ask about it, but Faramir ushered him and his companions deep into the citadel and into a cosy room with plush velvet armchairs and shelves of old musty books. "The King will be wanting to see you," he said, "and I'm sure Paris would like to see his sisters and his nephew."

"Paris is here?" said Andromache, her spirits rising.

"Yes, Andromache, I am," said Paris, appearing in the doorway with a grin on his face.

"Paris!" shouted Cassandra, running to her brother and hugging him tightly. Paris kissed her on both cheeks.

"Dear sister," he said. "I am glad to see that you are unharmed."

"We owe that to Balian," said Andromache. She and Paris embraced each other. They'd never been that close while Hector had been alive. Andromache had always viewed Paris as a somewhat naive and selfish boy, but with the fall of Troy, she'd begun to see him with new eyes. He'd proven himself to be a man when he'd challenged Calchas.

"Why am I not surprised?" said Paris. He relieved Andromache of Astyanax. "Sit down, Andromache. You look exhausted."

"You try riding from Rohan to Gondor without stopping," said Andromache, gratefully lowering sinking into a soft chair. Her bones and muscles ached. She rotated her head to relieve the tension in her neck.

"I did," said Paris. "And you're right. You should be exhausted." He turned to Balian. "Once again, my brother, I am in your debt."

"Don't worry about it," said Balian. He lowered himself onto a couch, relishing in the softness. "It's good to see you, Paris. I was worried. Where are the others?"

"Jack and Will and all the sailors are planning their next course of action," said Paris "and that arrogant Greek is in the practise yards, again."

"Actually, that _arrogant Greek_ is standing in the doorway right behind you," said Achilles, pushing past the Trojan prince. "I came as soon as I heard that Balian the Defender had ridden into the city. News spreads quickly."

Andromache stiffened as soon as she saw Achilles. Yes, she knew she ought to forgive him, since Hector was technically not dead, and he had redeemed himself, but she did not have it in her to forgive him, just yet. Whenever she looked at him, all she could see was the cruel monster who'd towed the bloodied body of her beloved husband in the sand behind his chariot.

"Achilles," said Balian, as a way of greeting the Greek. "I'm glad that you survived that storm."

"You must be part of the minority then," said Achilles. "Some people seem to regret the fact that I survived." He looked pointedly at Paris, who scowled. It took no expert to see the animosity between these two. Reconciliation would take a lot of work. Balian rubbed his face. He had no energy for mediating between them just yet. Then he remembered his purpose in Gondor.

"Where is the King?" he asked. "I need to see Aragorn, and Éomer as well. It's urgent."

"Well, Éomer is here," said Éomer, coming in with Éowyn behind him "but I don't know about Aragorn. He's proving rather elusive."

There were curses and crashing outside, followed by the screech of a monkey. It seemed that the sailors were no longer planning anything.

"Hullo, Nanny!" said Jack brightly. He sauntered into the room, bottle of rum in hand. In an unusual act of generosity, he offered the bottle to Balian, who declined.

"Jack, you call me 'nanny' one more time and you will regret..." he never got to finish his sentence, for the pirate simply ploughed on in his monologue.

"I knew you wouldn't drown. You're like me; bloody hard to kill."

"Ouch! Elizabeth! That was my hand that you just stood on!" came Will's muffled protest.

"Sorry, Will. It's a bit hard to not step on someone's body parts at the moment," said a woman, presumably Elizabeth.

"Gibbs, get orf me ya big fat oaf!" shouted another woman. "Ye got ya behind in me face!"

"I didn't need to know that," said Jack.

"Perhaps not," said an amused Achilles, who went out to help. He managed to pull Gibbs off Anna-Maria, and free Will from a tangle of arms, legs, swords, ropes and a wooden eye. Jack the monkey scampered off chattering to himself, having been squashed beneath the pile of men (and women).

"Did I just miss something interesting?" said Legolas as he surveyed the mess which prevented him from advancing any further along the corridor.

"Probably did," said Aragorn, grinning as he pushed his way through his naval officers and into the study. "Balian, welcome back, my friend."

"I wish I'd come in more auspicious circumstances, Aragorn," said Balian with a sigh. He pulled out the trampled Gondorian standard and spread it on the table.

"What's this?" asked Aragorn.

"I was in Rohan," said Balian "and I was staying in a little village with the family of one of the boys who fought at Helms Deep." He took a deep breath. "We were attacked, and the attackers flew this standard."

"You attacked my people?" said Éomer, turning angrily to Aragorn.

Aragorn shook his head in confusion. "I would never," he said. "Gondor and Rohan are allies."

"_Were_ allies, it would seem," snarled Éomer. "I never took you to be a two-headed snake, but it seems that power corrupts the best of men."

Éowyn stared at the torn flag. "How is this possible?" she whispered to herself, edging closer to Faramir and seeking comfort. Her husband put an arm around her.

"Did you interrogate any prisoners?" Legolas asked Balian.

"There were no prisoners," said Balian. "The riders killed them all, or they fell on their own swords."

Jack frowned. "It all seems a bit too convenient, if you ask me," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Legolas.

"Let us, my friends, not forget our friend, Cutler Beckett," said Jack.

"What?" said Will. Cutler Beckett had been no friend of his, and he was pretty sure he hadn't been Jack's friend either.

Elizabeth thought about it. Cutler Beckett had tried to trap the Brethren Court in Shipwreck Cove and then let them turn on each other...

"Jack, you're a genius," she said.

"As if I hadn't known that meself," said Jack, looking rather pleased.

"Excuse me," said Barbossa. "When did Jack Sparrow suddenly turn from idiot into genius?"

"Hey! You got no right to talk, Scraggly Beard! And it's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow!" said Jack.

"Whoever's against us," explained Elizabeth "they want to turn us against ourselves. You remember how you said that at all the skirmishes at the borders, there were no traces of your men, save for a few bodies?"

"Yes," said Aragorn. "How could I forget?"

"Well, our enemy, whoever he might be, caught them alive and got the standard too, and somehow made your men fight for him."

"And by doing that, he hoped that Éomer would declare war on Gondor, and when Gondor and Rohan are both weak from fighting each other, he would sweep down and destroy both, and reap the rewards," concluded Paris.

"The question is, how did this enemy make Gondorians obey him?" said Legolas.

"You drug 'em," said Barbossa. "The Chinese have got this drug which turns men into zombies. They do whatever they're told."

"They weren't drugged," said Balian. "I could see the hate in their eyes, and they knew exactly what they were doing."

"Then what else can it be?" said Faramir.

Will got up and headed for the door. "Where are you goin', Whelp?" asked Jack.

"I am going to interrogate one of _our_ prisoners," said Will. "Perhaps we'll be able to find out something from them."

"I'm coming with you," said Elizabeth.

"I'm coming too!" said Jack.

"As am I," said Faramir. "I'm curious as to what they'll say." He turned to the furious king of Rohan. "Éomer, what about you?"

"Of course I'm coming if it's going to reveal the truth," said the Rohirrim.

* * *

The dungeons of Minas Tirith, like most dungeons in other places, were dark and damp. The smell of mildew was cloying. Elizabeth covered her nose, but Will was used to it. The _Flying Dutchman_ hadn't been the cleanest of vessels. None of his crew members had been very fussy when it came to hygiene. He came to a stop in front of one of the cells. "Open the door," he said to the prison guard.

"I cannot release prisoners without..."

"Do as he says," said Faramir. "I am the Steward. I have the authority."

The man bowed. "As you wish, milord." He pulled a bunch of keys from his belt and selected one. The door opened with a groan like an old man with arthritis. Will strode in and pulled one of the prisoners out.

"Who do you work for?" he demanded. "Speak, or I swear to God, I will...Jack, you can do whatever you want, to make him talk."

"Hmm," said Jack. He knew the look in Will's eye. They were putting on a show for the prisoner. "Let's start with the snip snip, shall we?"

"What snip snip?" asked Elizabeth, wishing that Jack wouldn't talk in his own private language all the time. They needed the prisoner to understand what was being said.

"Oh, you know Lizzie, snip snip _eunuchy_."

The man's eyes widened. "No, please, I will...I will—" His sentence was cut off as he started screaming in agony. His lips, and then his tongue seemed to disintegrate before their very eyes as if he was being consumed by an invisible fire. The rest of his body followed Will yelped and released the man as his hand was burnt by whatever had consumed the man. The unfortunate wretch writhed and his screams died out as he was reduced to a pile of ash on the floor.

"Will!" cried Elizabeth, rushing to his side and grabbing his injured hand. Will winced. His palm was red and blistering, as if someone had doused it with boiling oil.

"That's dark sorcery if I ever saw any," said Jack "not that I've seen dark sorcery before."

"Should we get another man?" asked Faramir nervously. When that invisible fire had consumed the man, he'd felt extremely uneasy, as if someone had been aiming at the spot between his shoulder blades.

"Shucks, no," said Jack. "You get another one and he'll go to pieces like this one did. They can't talk, mate, even if they wanted to."

Aragorn paced across the carpet while his friends watched him. "Estel, sit down," said Legolas. "You're making us all dizzy."

The King sighed with frustration. "We've got prisoners, but they can't talk," he said. "How are we ever going to find out who's responsible for all of this?"

"One thing we do know," said Legolas. "Whoever this is, he's powerful."

"And very dangerous," added Jack. He poured a cup of wine and pushed it over to Aragorn. "Here, drink up, 'Arry. You'll feel better for it."

Aragorn downed the contents of the cup in one go. "How do we fight if we don't know who to fight?" he demanded.

"When the tide goes down, the rock will emerge," said Imad. "Surely there will be clues, yes?"

"Not that we can find," said Faramir.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Faramir got up and opened it. Before him was Beregond, and he was escorting Elizabeth's First Mate. "My lords," said the Captain of the Elite Guard. "This man says he has information that he wishes to divulge."

* * *

**A/N:** Once again, this is a dialogue-ridden chapter. Hopefully it didn't bore anyone. I needed to explain some stuff, as well, as get Balian to Gondor. Now that he's there, and we've finished dealing with the 'pirates fighting pirates' issue, we can get onto the real plot of the story...

If you want to see what Elizabeth and Barbossa's flag looks like, I did a crude representation here: s214.photobucket (.) com/albums/cc99/Telcontar (underscore) Rulz/?actionview (equals) ('and' sign) current (equals) piratesofGondor (.) jpg (_without the spaces_)


	15. Princes of Harad

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters that you recognize (that means everyone except Wulf and the people with Persian names). I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Smithy,** I don't think resurrecting Sibylla would be on the agenda ;) Thanks for suggesting the story. I'll be sure to check it out at the library.

**Chapter 14: Princes of Harad**

All of them stared at Xerxes strangely. What could the man possibly know? "Interrogating prisoners didn't work, did it, milords?" said the tattooed Haradrim.

"How did you know?" asked Legolas suspiciously.

"Were you spying on us?" demanded Elizabeth, narrowing her eyes at her first mate. Normally, even Barbossa would lose confidence at the sight of that expression, but Xerxes seemed to be unaffected.

"I was," he said casually, amused that his captain was so annoyed. "It has always been in my best interests to know everybody's business. I overheard a bit of what you were talking about. You face a dangerous enemy, King Elessar."

"And who is this dangerous enemy?" asked Aragorn. He gazed at the man closely, trying to see whether he was lying or telling the truth.

"A Magelord," said Xerxes. Gone was the nonchalant air which had surrounded him. He seemed absolutely serious. Beneath the tattoos, his face was hard and tense. Hate burned in his dark eyes. "His name is Narbazanes."

"Two questions," said Jack. "What the hell is a Magelord and who the hell is Narbazanes?"

"A Magelord, Jack, is obviously someone who does magic," said Will. "You know, like a sorcerer, or a wizard, only...different."

"A Magelord _is_ a sorcerer," said Xerxes. "Only, instead of being a maia, as wizards are, Narbazanes is a man."

"Oh," said Jack and Will together, not really understanding the differences between maiar and men.

"So why do you hate this Narbazanes?" asked Faramir. "He is of your kindred—"

"He is not my kin, nor is he my king, and that usurper never will be!" declared Xerxes.

Aragorn glanced at his steward. The two men were thinking the same thing. Xerxes had a vendetta against the King of Harad, supposedly. Either he really meant it, or he was a very good actor.

"The last we heard, the King of Harad was called Kourosh," said Faramir.

"When was the last time you heard from your spies in Harad?" said Xerxes. It was a valid point. They had not heard from their spies in many months. Anything could've happened by now.

"How do we know we can trust you?" said Legolas.

"You don't, but you have to," said Xerxes. "I'm the only one who knows anything."

"So tell us something," challenged Paris.

"Kourosh _was_ the king, but he was murdered, presumably by Narbazanes, who then took the throne."

"Where did you get this information?" said Aragorn. Xerxes seemed to be amused by this question, as if the answer was more than simply obvious. His arrogant manner irked Legolas. This tattooed man acted as if he, and not Aragorn, was King.

"Remember, King Elessar, that I am Haradrim, and it is much easier for a Haradrim to find information in Harad than, say, pale-skinned Gondorians who cannot for the love of the gods learn the right accent." The sarcasm was back.

"We sent our best spies," said Faramir acidly. "They were highly trained."

"Your standards must be rather lax then, my lord Steward," said the Haradrim. "Your spies did not fool me, and they certainly did not fool Narbazanes. By the way, your spies' heads are now on pikes instead of their necks, if you're wondering why you haven't heard from them."

This revelation almost made Aragorn's heart stop for a moment. He clenched his hands into fists and his nails were digging into his palms. The Haradrim's manner was wearing his patience very thin indeed.

"If there is such a powerful sorcerer in Harad, why haven't we heard of him until now?" asked Legolas.

"Narbazanes may be many things, but a fool is not one of them," said Xerxes. "When the Dark Lord was still in power, he stayed subordinate, and in return, the Dark One gave him gifts. We Haradrim bend when we know we cannot win the fight, and lie in wait for the right time to strike."

"Do you know how to defeat Narbazanes?" asked Paris.

"If I did, Prince Paris, I would not be here," said Xerxes dryly.

"Do you know _how_ he controls the minds of men?" asked Balian. The thought of good men's minds being corrupted by a dark overlord filled him with fear. He glanced around at his friends. It could easily have been one of them .The last thing he wanted to do was to fight a friend. He didn't think he would have it in him to take up arms against a former comrade.

"Narbazanes keeps his secrets," said Xerxes. "Just because I'm Haradrim doesn't mean I know the inner workings of his dark and twisted mind."

Aragorn stood. He needed time to think about all of this. At least their enemy was no longer a nameless menace. The truth however, neither helped their situation nor comforted him. If this Narbazanes could control the minds of men, what use were his armies? "Thank you for your help, Xerxes of Harad," he said, signalling that the Haradrim's part in this conversation was over, at least for the time-being.

Xerxes bowed and Beregond escorted him out of the room. The High King turned back to his friends. "What do you think?" he asked.

"We have naught but his word that it's the truth that he's been tellin'," said Barbossa, selecting a waxy green apple from the wooden fruit bowl which sat on a low table. He sank uneven yellow teeth through the shiny green skin. Juice ran down his beard.

"I cannot believe that I'm saying this," said Jack. He wore a pained expression "But Barbossa's right."

"We have no choice but to trust him," said Balian. Even after all that he'd been through, he was mostly an optimist. "Why would he lie to us?"

"Balian, my Frankish friend," said Imad, "I know you are an honourable man and that what brains you had were fried by the desert sun, but for once, think about the world from the perspective of a dishonourable man. That man could have been trying to make us hostile against Narbazanes. With war between Gondor, Rohan and...this other place, he and his real master would reap the rewards.

They all turned to stare at the Arab. It was the first time that they'd noticed this swarthy stranger. Balian cleared his throat. He should've introduced his old friend to his new ones. "This is Imad ibn Baybar," he said. "He's my friend from my world..."

"Oh yes," said Legolas. "I remember now. You're Saladin's spymaster, are you not?"

"I am flattered that you know of me," said Imad, dipping his head.

"It's hard not to," said Aragorn, offering his hand to the other man. "Balian has spoken highly of you."

"I thought he sang my praises," said Imad with a grin.

"Believe me, if he had, I wouldn't have listened," said Legolas, winking at the Arab. Imad chuckled while Balian pretended to scowl.

"Who was that man anyway?" he asked.

Everyone turned to Paris, who'd been the one who'd recommended letting Xerxes take part in the new navy. "He's a Haradrim whom we found in the dungeons," explained Paris.

"The dungeons?" said Balian, raising an eyebrow. The expression, which on Legolas' face made people feel inadequate, only made Balian look confused, which he was. Why was a convict now giving advice and being sarcastic with the King of Gondor?

"We recruited convicts for our new navy," said Faramir, glowering at those responsible for naming the navy's flagship the _Salty Wench_.

"We needed men who would be happy to commandeer ships, savvy?" said Jack.

"He might seem obnoxious when he opens his mouth," said Elizabeth, "but Xerxes has never given me any reason to doubt him, when he keeps his mouth shut that is."

Barisian chose that moment to stir from his nap. His father's lap had not been the most comfortable bed. Unlike Sibylla, Balian was not soft at all. At the sight of all these strange faces, he immediately began to wail.

"Oh no no no," said Balian, turning his attention back to his frightened little son and cuddling him. "Shh, it's all right. Papa is here. You're safe, _mon petit bonhomme_."

Legolas raised an eyebrow in amusement and opened his mouth to say something. Faramir beat him to it. "Before you make any more nanny jokes, you might want to know that this _is_ in fact Balian's son and heir," said the Steward.

"You have a son?" said Legolas in surprise. "When did this happen? I thought you said you had no family left."

"I didn't know until after our latest storm at sea, and I arrived in the Holy Land," said Balian, all the while patting Barisian on the back. He made some cooing noises which made the others, namely Jack and the other unmarried males, snigger.

"Where be the mother?" asked Barbossa. Balian closed his eyes and exhaled, as if in anguish.

"Forget I said anythin'," said the old pirate, knowing immediately that he'd trespassed into dangerous territory. The man would speak when he was ready, and they could guess what had happened anyway.

"Poor darling," said Éowyn. The sight of the tiny child who'd lost his mother awakened the maternal instincts in the Shieldmaiden. Barisian seemed to be aware of that too. His sobs subsided into sniffles and he kept his blue eyes fixed on Éowyn. Astyanax, ever the calm baby, slept on peacefully.

"I think he's tired," said Balian, "that's why he's so grumpy. Isn't that right, _mon petit_?"

"What's his name?" said Legolas.

"His mother named him Barisian, after me," said Balian.

"Barisian," said Jack, trying out the word. "That's an awfully long name for such a little mite. He's gonna have trouble learnin' ta say it."

"Me hungwy," said the little boy shyly, turning back to his father.

Elizabeth, seeing that the man was exhausted and also unused to raising a child, relieved him of the little boy. "I'll take care of him," she told Balian. "You go and get some rest. He'll be fine with me."

"Thank you, Madame Turner," said Balian, smiling gratefully at her.

"Just Elizabeth will do," said Will's wife. "Madame makes me feel so old and proper." Barisian, sensing that this lady meant him no harm, let her carry him away from Balian. She reminded him of his mother, although his mother had been much better.

Éowyn took Andromache, Astyanax and Cassandra under her wing. The women led them to the guest quarters where they had been staying. Helen met them on the way. The Spartan woman threw her arms around her sisters by marriage. "I've been so worried about you," she said. "Thank the gods you're safe."

"I don't see how we wouldn't be safe," said Andromache with a smile. "Balian has been a most vigilant protector. Mainly we stayed in his old house, and didn't do anything."

"You must be exhausted," said Helen, taking Astyanax from his mother. Hector's angelic little son remained fast asleep. Andromache smiled.

"He's just like his father," she said. "Nothing short of a war would wake him."

"Where's his father?" asked Elizabeth as they stepped into the spacious rooms. Briseis was sitting on one of the couches beside Arwen, who was teaching her how to sew shirts for Achilles. The guest quarters were warm and welcoming. Sunlight shone through a window which reached the floor, and the colours were in synchrony with each other. The walls were painted in a warm creamy colour, and there were reliefs which went all the way around, depicting legends. On the polished tile floor were thick woven rugs. A boy of six lay on one of these, concentrating hard on his drawing of a ship. He looked up when he heard Elizabeth.

"Mama," he said as his gaze fell on Barisian, "did you and Papa make a baby just then?"

"No, Willie," said Elizabeth a little too quickly. She and Will had been trying to have more children, but that was beside the point. She was not ready to have the Talk with Willie just yet. Anyway, that was Will's job, seeing as Willie was a boy.

"Ah, so you haven't been doing all those naughty things that Uncle Jack-Jack's told me about," said Willie. "That's all right then. Those were so yucky." He stuck out his tongue and made a face.

Elizabeth clenched her teeth and vowed to kill Jack...again.

* * *

Aragorn had ordered a feast to be prepared. Initially, it had been to celebrate the success of the...navy, but now there was the added pleasure of a grand reunion. There was much laughter, despite the grim situation. Food was piled like mountains, and drink flowed freely. Much to Jack's delight, there was even rum. He filled his cup, blissfully unaware that Elizabeth was plotting to punish him for talking too much.

Paris was retelling the woeful tale of Troy. Faramir shook his head and raised his cup. "Here's to all the fair maidens who are worth fighting for," he said.



"Why do I have the feeling that in general, we're not having much luck with love?" said Éomer after they'd finished toasting. "Balian has been widowed twice, Jack gets slapped, Will got killed and had his heart cut out, Paris lost his nation and his brother, Achilles was shot, Legolas and Gimli...don't count, and I haven't even glimpsed my lady."

"It's fate," said Paris.

Wulf was also listening to the story of Troy, but he was listening to Cassandra's rendition instead of Paris'. He felt sorry for her, even though he wasn't sure if it was right for a soldier to pity a princess. The girl was obviously in love with Balian. Her narrative focused mainly on him and his heroics of debatable sanity. Unfortunately, the noble Lord Balian did not seem to reciprocate her feelings for him. That made her rather bitter. If only she would smile more, then she would actually be very pretty, in a delicate sort of way which made Wulf want to protect her.

In another part of the Great Hall, Merry, Pippin and Gimli were explaining the rules of their drinking game to Ragetti and Pintel. Legolas stood to the side with his arms crossed and a grin on his face, waiting for the show to begin. Jack and Barbossa were having a little drinking game of their own. Jack, having had a bit of a head start, was losing.

"So you see, it's quite simple," said Pippin. "You just try and stay on your feet!"

"You can't stop either," said Merry.

"And no regurgitation," added Gimli. Regurgitation seemed to be too big a word for Ragetti and Pintel, who looked at the dwarf blankly. Gimli, the great dwarven warrior of the War of the Ring, felt uncomfortable under the gaze of Ragetti's wooden eye. "That means...uh...no spitting or vomiting," he translated.

"Ah, you could've jes told us that," said Pintel.

"We's pirates," said Ragetti. "We dunno many big words, do we, Pin?"

"I can't believe Gimli managed to trick someone else into playing a drinking game," said Balian. The children were asleep under the watchful eye of Ioreth, the old woman who worked in the Houses of Healing. That left their parents some free time.

"Pintel and Ragetti aren't exactly the most intelligent people that I've met," said Legolas. "I guess you won't be partaking in any more drinking games, now that you have to be a good role model for little Barisian." The elf gave a mock sigh. "Such a pity really. We could've trained you to become a good drinker...well that might be a bit too much to hope for, but we definitely could've taught you to hold a bit more than three mugs of rum."

"Even if I wasn't a father, I would never take part in a drinking game ever again," said Balian, shuddering at the memory of the pounding headaches.

"Admit it, Balian," said Will, coming over to join them. "You just can't hold your drink."

"That's not a fault...is it?"

"Depends on who you're talking to," said Aragorn. He'd overheard the conversation. "Of course, if you're a diplomat, it helps if you can hold your drink, especially since drinking seems to be an obligatory diplomatic activity."

Ragetti and Pintel set to drowning themselves in ale. Merry was sipping his ale slowly, more interested in watching the pirates' antics. Pippin was draining his tankard enthusiastically, but Tooks had always been better drinkers than Brandybucks (in Pippin's opinion) and he could afford to do that. Gimli, having remembered last time's experience, paced himself carefully.

In another corner, Éowyn was relating the tale of how she disguised herself as a man to fight in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Elizabeth never tired of hearing how Éowyn had taken off her helmet and declared to the Witch King that she was 'no man'. That was exactly what she would've done as well, except she would've done it probably while running away from the Witch King. Safety first.

"I'll bet you showed the men," said Anna-Maria in satisfaction. "They're always lookin' down on us women, sayin' that we're not as strong or smart. Pah!" She glanced at Jack, who was now singing tunelessly at the top of his voice while staggering around, drunk to the boot. "If that's smart, then I don't know what's stupid."

"If I'd known how to fight, I would've strangled Agamemnon," said Briseis fiercely. "It's a pity that women don't fight."

"Who told you that?" demanded Anna-Maria, Elizabeth and Éowyn indignantly.

"Women can, and should fight, if they need to," said Elizabeth.

"Whaddya think I did when I got into trouble?" said Anna-Maria. "Wait fer Jack Sparrow ta come an' rescue me?"

"Those without swords can still die upon them," declared Éowyn.

"Well, in that case," said Briseis. Her eyes gleamed. She would never be the helpless maiden ever again.

"I would like to try," said Helen cautiously, "but would our husbands..."

"I don't know, but they don't need to know about it," said Briseis. At any rate, Achilles was not likely to mind. He'd thought her brave when she'd tried to fight off Greek soldiers.

"It seems wrong," said Andromache, shaking her head. "I don't want to know the art of killing. It's so..." She trailed off as her eyes grew distant. She'd seen enough of war to last a lifetime. The last thing she wanted was to actually partake in a war or a battle. "I'm a mother," she said. "I give life; I don't take it."

"It's perfectly reasonable not to want to learn," said Elizabeth, remembering all the girls that she'd consorted with when she'd been growing up as a little lady. All they'd cared about were ribbons and dresses. Swords were things for rude noisy dirty little boys. Of course, Elizabeth had always secretly wanted to play with one.

"When do we start our lessons?" asked Briseis enthusiastically. Sword-fighting sounded much more interesting than sewing shirts for Achilles, no matter how much she loved him.

Éowyn glanced around. No one was paying them much attention. "How about now?" she said. The feast wasn't that interesting, to be honest. There was only so much that one could eat.

In the midst of all the merrymaking, no one noticed Xerxes sneaking past the crowds and heading for the exit. No one, that is, except Achilles and the ever watchful Imad. The Greek met the Arab's gaze. Imad nodded and started towards the exit, on Xerxes' trail. The Spymaster was careful to keep a constant distance between him and his quarry. Achilles, not being an experienced spy, but having been in ambushes before, followed Imad's example.

The sun was setting in the west, staining the sky with hues of red and orange. Soon, the gates of Minas Tirith would close for the night. Xerxes passed through the gates. His stride seemed casual, but an observant spy would see the hidden urgency in his step. He had a wrapped bundle under his arm. No one questioned him. He was one of the victorious sailors.

The Greek and the Arab followed him, keeping to the shadows and staying as quiet as they could. Xerxes entered a small labyrinth of rocks close to the city, and then gave a shrill whistle which sounded like the night song of some bird. Another identical whistle answered it. He moved on, oblivious to his two extra companions. Achilles was glad that the rocks hid them. What secret did this Xerxes have?

The Haradrim came to a stop before something which resembled a shelter. "Bahram," he said.

Someone said something in a foreign tongue, and Xerxes answered in exactly the same language. Neither Imad nor Achilles could understand it, and that only served to make them more suspicious. A boy, no more than seventeen years of age, climbed out of the makeshift shelter. His once fine clothes of dark-coloured silks were now torn and dirty. He did not sport as many tattoos as Xerxes did, although his tattoos seemed to be finer. Xerxes handed him the wrapped bundle. The boy quickly unwrapped it and began to fill his mouth with food which Xerxes had taken from the feast. All the while, the two kept up a steady conversation. Imad heard the word for Gondor, and the names of some of his acquaintances. 'Elessar' seemed to appear a lot in this conversation. The Spymaster began to wonder whether Xerxes was an undercover agent as the two pirate captains Sparrow and Barbossa seemed to believe.

The boy —presumably his name was Bahram— finished the food and burped in satisfaction, like all adolescent boys seemed to do regularly, if only to annoy the adults. He and Xerxes exchanged a few more words, and then the older man turned to leave. Imad and Achilles quickly ducked behind their rock. Thankfully, it was beginning to get dark, and Xerxes did not notice them.

"What was that all about?" whispered Achilles.

"I don't know," Imad whispered back.

"So what do we do now?"

"We get that boy, and make him talk. We make them both talk."

Bahram retreated back into his stony shelter, first glancing around him to make sure that there was no danger. Achilles shivered. Nights in Middle Earth were chilly. By now, the gates of Minas Tirith would've closed. They would have to wait until morning before they could escort their would-be prisoner before Aragorn.

* * *

Xerxes hurried back, just in time to pass through the gates and get back into the city. No one seemed to have noticed his absence. They were all either too drunk or too busy looking after their intoxicated friends. Ragetti and Pintel were snoring in chairs, having both drunken too much for their own good. Jack had been escorted away by Will for being too rowdy and making a fool of himself and of his friends, especially a certain former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. Pippin had retired to his room after having been bested by his Brandybuck cousin. Gimli was the victorious winner of this particular drinking game, but he too was slurring his words and could not walk in a straight line.

Briseis' cheeks were rosy from the exertion of her first ever sword-fighting lesson. "Where's Achilles?" she asked. When she could not find him, she began to grow suspicious. He'd better have a good explanation, or else he would be in big trouble, and Briseis had just learnt how to use a sword.

* * *

Imad waited until dawn before storming into the stone shelter and dragging out the panicking sleepy boy. "Don't struggle," he hissed, "and no harm will come to you."

"Who...who are you?" demanded Bahram.

"No one that you need to know about," said Imad. He quickly bound the boy's hands with his turban and then blindfolded him with another strip of cloth. With Achilles helping him, they escorted the Haradrim boy back to Minas Tirith. They had no doubt that Aragorn would like to speak with him, and Xerxes too.

* * *

Balian was beginning to worry. Where was Imad? The Arab was new to Middle Earth. Where could he possibly have gone? He paced on the carpet, while Barisian watched him with fascination from his vantage point on the couch. The little boy thought it looked rather silly. However, his father's repetitive movements soon bored him and he turned back to his game with Astyanax, which involved wooden horses attacking wooden lions.

Aragorn sat in a chair rubbing his temples. Those who had partaken in drinking games the night before were absent, due to unbearable headaches. He wished he could've claimed the same excuse. The King had been up since early morning, going through administrative documents.

"Had _anyone_ seen Imad or Achilles anywhere last night?" Balian asked.

"I think we were all too distracted," reasoned Paris.

"Still, they can't have simply disappeared," said Briseis, biting her lip.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," said Helen reassuringly. "I know Achilles can look after himself, and Lord Imad does not seem to be the helpless type."

"Yes," muttered Balian. "That's what worries me." Being the rather self-sufficient sort of man, Imad was more prone to getting into trouble than, say, Barisian.

"Your Majesty!" came Beregond's shout. "Milords Achilles and Imad have returned, escorting a prisoner!"

Aragorn immediately leapt to his feet, sending the chair toppling backwards. "A prisoner, you say?" he said.

"A _Haradrim_ prisoner," said Beregond. He didn't need to say anymore. Aragorn was already out the door and running down the corridor, with his friends hot on his heels. Legolas overtook the men and hurtled through the streets. Passersby stopped to marvel at the spectacle of the King and the lords on foot, running as if their lives depended on it.

"You know..." puffed Paris. "Sometimes...I...really...hate...Legolas...he makes me...feel...so...inadequate...and slow..."

"You weren't the one trying to keep up with him in Rohan," said Aragorn rather breathlessly. "He wouldn't even let us sleep."

The others didn't bother to complain about the elf and his speed and simply concentrated on breathing.

A crowd had gathered around Imad, Achilles and their prisoner. Somehow, Elizabeth and the other 'ladies' were already there. They'd been doing one thing which women loved and men hated; shopping.

"Let me through!" someone was shouting. It was Xerxes. He cursed himself when he saw Bahram in the hands of Imad and Achilles. They must've followed him the night before, and he'd been too stupid to notice.

"Just the man I wanted to see," said Imad genially to Xerxes.

"What do you want?" growled the Haradrim. He clenched his hands into fists, as if getting ready to fight.

"I'm a curious man by nature," said Imad. "It's how Allah made me. I just want some honest answers from you. Ah, the King is here. I am thinking perhaps he would like to be a part of this conversation as well?"

"What conversation?" said Aragorn.

"We found this man sneaking out of Gondor to bring food to this boy here," said Achilles, jerking his head in the direction of the terrified adolescent. He actually had no intention of hurting the boy, but a little intimidation never did anyone any harm.

"Pardon me," said Legolas, "but perhaps this conversation would be better if it was conducted somewhere private? It's not a show, or am I mistaken?"

The boy and Xerxes were escorted back to the Citadel under heavy guard. The older Haradrim looked murderous but to his credit, he did not make any foolish moves, something which impressed Balian. If he'd been in the same situation, no doubt he would've tried to fight his way out of it.

Inside the Citadel, the boy's gag and bonds were removed. All of them looked at Imad expectantly. The Arab cleared his throat. "First, tell me who exactly you are," he said to Bahram. The boy was panic stricken. Xerxes nodded at him. Even the truth couldn't possibly make matters any worse.

"I...I am Bahram, son of Kourosh," he stammered.

"Kourosh?" said Faramir. "Kourosh of Harad? You're a prince of Harad?"

"Yes," said the boy.

"And who is this man to you?" said Aragorn, indicating Xerxes.

"Xerxes is my half-brother," said Bahram.

Elizabeth turned to her First Mate sharply. "You're a prince?" she demanded. "All this time, you've worked under me, and you're _royalty_?!"

Faramir now saw Xerxes in a completely new perspective. No wonder he'd been so arrogant and educated. "You're Atarxerxes of Harad," he said, "the infamous warrior prince who unfortunately has no head for politics."

"The infamous _illegitimate_ warrior prince of Harad," corrected Xerxes. "And now, simply a fugitive with a price on his head."

"No wonder you're so willing to help us," said Legolas. "It was your throne that this Narbazanes usurped."

"No, it was Bahram's throne," said Xerxes. "In case you haven't realized, my mother was a dancer from Khand. That does put me off the line of succession." He glowered at his interrogators. "Now that you know our secret, what are you going to do with us?"

"I'm willing to assume that the enemy of our enemy is our friend," said Aragorn. He held out a hand to Xerxes. "Are you willing to help us to defeat Narbazanes?"

Xerxes took Aragorn's hand in a firm grip. The two men shook hands. "I would give anything to drag Narbazanes off his stolen throne," said Xerxes with a grim smile.

"Then we're on the same path, my friend," said Aragorn.

* * *

The fires in the centre of the dark crystal sphere burned. The flames parted as images manifested. Guy licked his dry lips and watched the dark silhouette of his master nervously. The Magelord stood still, like a menacing statue of black stone. Only his roves moved in the unnatural air currents which seemed to follow in his wake. It was warm in the chamber of stone, and yet Guy shivered.

Narbazanes turned malicious glittering eyes to the former king of Jerusalem. "At last, he is near at hand," said the Magelord. His voice resonated through the stones and inside Guy's skull. "The time is ripe."

* * *

Smoke rose from Osgiliath. The city on the Anduin was under attack. The messenger ran through the corridors, making his way to the King's study. He didn't even knock, but simply pushed open the door, making Aragorn look up in surprise.

"What is it?" asked the King.

"Osgiliath is under attack," gasped the messenger. "The Haradrim have revealed themselves."

* * *

This was Guy's favourite part of the plan. "Consider this revenge for my exile, _Aragorn_," he said softly as he watched his men sack the city. Property, women, and even young children were being taken back to their base in Harad as loot. Slave prices were high. Besides, the point of attacking Osgiliath was not to subdue it, but to lure the Gondorians and the Master's prey out. Once Aragorn realized that war was inevitable, he would no doubt send out all the men he could to secure his borders. If Balian was not among those men who were sent out, then Guy swore that he would eat his sword.

* * *

"Send out all our mounted forces," said Aragorn. "I want swift retaliation. Ready my horse. Send word to Lord Faramir and tell him that he is to guard the city." He was walking and talking so quickly that Beregond, for all his efficiency, found it difficult to keep up with him.

"Sire, are you certain that this is wise?" he asked. "What if there's an ambush?"

"I can't worry about that right now," said Aragorn, attempting to pull on his armour. "Our people are under attack. What king would I be if I did not protect them?" Two menservants came to his aid and strapped the metal plates onto him, tying the leather straps tightly to prevent the armour from falling off.

Within moments, all the mounted soldiers of Minas Tirith were ready. Once again, Legolas rode beside Aragorn, with Gimli clinging on grimly behind him. Imad was surprised that the horse could take so much weight and still keep up. Yes, the elf was supposedly very light, but the dwarf more than made up for it, with all his armour and weapons.

Éomer had also insisted on joining this venture, and no one with the smallest drop of wisdom would leave Achilles out of battle. Balian was also there. He was not about to be left behind either. Nothing short of divine intervention could've stopped him.

They rode out like a wall of shining silver, determined to crush the enemy who had dared to threaten Gondor's sovereignty.

Guy saw the Gondorians coming from a distance. His master had given orders that if Gondor retaliated, Guy and his men were to retreat immediately. As much as Guy wanted revenge, he dared not disobey Narbazanes. "Pull back!" he called to his men. "Return to camp!"

The Haradrim retreated as suddenly as they had attacked. Their swift horses bore them back in the direction from whence they came. Out of Gondor, Aragorn could not do anything to them. Indeed, Aragorn would not be foolish enough to go out of his country and into enemy territory.

Aragorn slammed his fist into his thigh in frustration when all he saw of the Haradrim was the cloud of dust raised by the hooves of their horses. "How am I supposed to fight them if they won't stand and fight?" he demanded of no one in particular.

"We fought like that," commented Imad. "What you need, _Sai'idi_, are militias in every town and village. That way, all of Gondor would be prepared to defend themselves from attacks."

"Who is going to train and lead these militias?" asked Aragorn. "Gondor does not have enough army officers."

"I don't know what I can do," said Balian, "but I'm willing to help."

"As am I," said Will. There was a chorus of agreement, and Achilles' voice was the loudest. He dismounted, and went to kneel on one knee before Aragorn.

"King Aragorn of Gondor," he said. "I, Achilles of Epirus, offer you my service and my sword, to do with what you will."

"Gladly, Achilles, I accept your offer," said Aragorn, getting out of the saddle to raise Achilles to his feet. "Gondor has need of men like you."

Understanding passed between the two men. It was at that moment that Achilles realized he was willing to follow this warrior king to whatever end; even to death.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, here's an even bigger whopper, because it's the beginning of semester break, and I've been planning this for sooo long. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.


	16. Something Rotten in Gondor

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Yep, **Smithy**, Achilles is alive and thriving. Never intended for him to live, but Jack had other plans.

Thanks, **R-Cleberg.** I'm glad you like Xerxes and his brother, and their little side story. Achilles idolizes Aragorn ;)

**Chapter 15: Something Rotten in Gondor **

Jack Sparrow was not enjoying himself. Even after having drowned himself in that horrid tasting willowbark tea which Anna-Maria had poured down his throat, there was still a pounding headache behind his eyes. The curtains of his room were drawn. He couldn't stand light at the moment. There was a knock on the door. He groaned in response and staggered out of bed to open it.

Elizabeth stood there. Jack's headache was distracting him too much, because if he'd been in the right state of mind, he would've noticed the dangerous expression which the lovely Mrs. Turner was now wearing. "What is it, Lizzie?" he groaned. "I ain't feelin' too good, so make it quick, please."

"You and I need to talk," said Elizabeth.

"'Bout what?"

"What exactly did you tell my son?"

"Aw, come on, Lizzie! I told him loads of things. You don't expect me to remember everything, do you?"

"You told him about the amorous activities between a man and a woman! With morals like yours, who knows what ideas you've put into his head?! For all I know, you've corrupted him! Scarred his mind for eternity!"

Jack winced. Elizabeth's screeching sounded abnormally loud and it did nothing for his headache.

Will heard his wife's screaming some distance down the corridor and hurried to investigate. He stopped in the doorway of Jack's room. What was going on? "Is something wrong?" he asked. "Why are you shouting at Jack, Elizabeth?"

"This bloody rum-soaked pirate told Willie about...about...the birds and the bees!" screamed Elizabeth. Her face was red with anger.

Will narrowed his eyes. "What exactly did you tell my son, Jack?" he asked in a low voice.

"Nuthin' that wasn't true," said Jack. "I promise you I was totally honest with him, honest."

Will threw himself at Jack, more than ready to give him a black eye or two. Jack took a step backwards and tripped over an empty rum bottle. The two pirates fell in a heap.

"What in Zeus' name is going on?" said Paris, who'd come to see what the commotion was all about. "Will, stop trying to kill Jack, unless there is a very good reason for it of course."

"He told Willie about the activities between men and women," said Will through gritted teeth.

Paris looked blank. "And is there anything wrong with that?" he asked. "Willie has to find out some time, unless you want him to be as hapless as our friend Balian in matters of love."

"At least _someone_ is reasonable," muttered Jack as he tried to stop Will from pummelling him.

"Have you no sense of morality?" demanded Elizabeth, throwing her hands in the air. Paris' wariness doubled.

"Perhaps Trojan sensibilities are not quite the same as English sensibilities," he reasoned. The last thing he wanted was to get into a fight with Will's fearsome wife. She would beat him. There was no doubt about that. Not only would he end up rather sore, but it would also be very humiliating to be beaten by a woman.

"I suppose not," said Elizabeth, still scowling at the Trojan.

"But Will, you do have to take into account that Jack took good care of you while you were ill," said Paris reasonably. "And I'm sure he didn't do too much damage. Willie would've found out sooner or later, when you and Elizabeth have more children."

"I just didn't want him to find out so crudely," said Elizabeth. There was no denying Paris' logic. She and Will would've had to tell Willie all about these things pretty soon.

"Well, at least he won't be confused," said the Trojan prince. "And I think having Jack tell him would be better than having Ragetti and Pintel tell him."

"Tell me what?" said Willie's voice. He'd come to find Jack, to tell him that perhaps he should hide, since Anna-Maria was preparing more willowbark tea, only to find his father wrestling with Jack on the ground. "Papa, are you fighting with Uncle Jack-Jack?" Will only grunted in reply. Willie glanced up at Elizabeth. "Mama, you should tell them off. Fighting is bad. You said so."

"Uh, yes," said Elizabeth. "Will, get off Jack. I think he's learnt his lesson."

"He'd better have," growled Will, getting back to his feet. Jack groaned and sat up.

"If I find any bruises, you'll be sorry, William Turner," threatened the pirate half-heartedly.

* * *

Guy rode into Mordor, past the throngs of slaves working under their orc overseers. All the creatures of darkness were gathering once more, hoping to rebuild the leviathan that had been Sauron's war machine. Each day, more orcs and former minions of Sauron found their way back to their old abode to fight under the flag of the Magelord Narbazanes, High King of Harad, who had been one of Sauron's most trusted servants, save for the Mouth himself.

Stone by stone, they reconstructed the dark land by the labour of captives taken in raids. The sound of singing always lay under the noise of work as they moved stones and built scaffolds. As Guy rode through Mordor, he heard snatches of the song of the slaves.

_Fly away, on gentle breezes._

_Fly swiftly, songs of love_

_to greet our homeland_

_where once we lived in hope _

_and knew no sorrow... _(1)

As he listened, he mused on how far he'd fallen. Once, he'd been the king of God's warriors. He'd been free to do as he wished. Now he didn't even have a place to call home. It was all Balian's fault. That 'Perfect Knight' would pay.

Elsewhere, orcs were training for battle under the watchful eye of disdainful Haradrim commanders. Their animosity was only oppressed by their common hate for Gondor and all the peoples west of it. The fires of the forges burned night and day as they strived to arm their ever growing forces.

Guy dismounted before a tower of smooth dark stone; one of the few things which had survived the destruction of Sauron. "His majesty is waiting," said the eunuch who stood at the door. Guy gave the...creature a curt nod. He made no secret of his contempt for Safar, the head eunuch who served Narbazanes.

Safar, in return, had always wisely disregarded this contempt outwardly. The Master's pet foreigner would get his due, once he'd outlived his use. He was simply a means of getting what the Master truly desired.

"I shall go and inform him of your return, my lord," the eunuch said in his high falsely feminine voice. His hairless jowls quivered as he spoke. Guy suppressed a shudder of disgust. How the thing could let itself live on after it had been neutered like livestock was beyond his comprehension.

"Go," he said. As he waited on the steps to be admitted before the king, he brushed dust off his dark robes and straightened them to make himself presentable. He might simply be a lackey right now, but it did not mean he had abandoned his dignity entirely. It was some time before the heavy metal doors opened with a groan. This time, it was not a eunuch who stepped out, but a woman. Safar made Guy shudder, and this woman made his insides quiver and his breathing quicken.

Sarvenaz, the king's current favourite wife, gave Guy a coy smile. "My lord of Lusignan," she said in her low and slightly husky voice. She always did know how to appease men. "His majesty bids you to enter at once." Her smile widened just a little, revealing straight white teeth. Not even the exotic Sibylla had been quite this seductive. Too bad she was entirely out of his reach, and she seemed quite happy with Narbazanes, at least for the time being.

The king of Harad sat confidently on his cushioned stone throne. His presence seemed to fill the entire room. "How did they respond?" he demanded of Guy, fixing the man with his dark glittering gaze. Narbazanes held his hand out to Sarvenaz, who went to him immediately and knelt by his feet.

"Ara... I mean, Elessar himself led the mounted forces out of Minas Tirith. We retreated, and they did not give chase," said Guy.

"Did you see _him_?" said Narbazanes abruptly.

"Who, Sire?" asked Guy. He knew exactly who, and he resented the fact that this common bastard would soon usurp his place as the Magelord's second in command.

"Do not play the fool with me," hissed Narbazanes. Guy shrank back instinctively. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to run, but he made himself stand his ground. Running would only prove that he was unworthy of a position of power in the court. "You are not as good an actor as you believe yourself to be. I know you resent him. It shows in your eyes. Remember that _he _is the only one with the power I need."

"He's a common lowly bastard blacksmith," muttered Guy.

"_He_ is one of Iluvatar's chosen ones," said Narbazanes. "There is raw power to be mined from him, and his skill in war greatly surpasses your own. If we are to win, we need a commander like him. Now, tell me. Was he there?"

"He was there, Sire," said Guy sullenly.

"Good," said the Magelord in satisfaction. "From what you have said of his character. I believe he will soon fall into my trap." Sarvenaz laid her head on his thigh and he stroked her dark hair, as if she was a pet cat and not a woman. "Now, on a more interesting note, my spies report that Gondor has newly acquired a one ship navy."

"What are they going to do with one ship?" said Sarvenaz, sniggering.

"Now, now, do not take it so lightly, my dear," said Narbazanes. "If they can get one ship, they can get another. However, that is not the only thing. It seems that my wayward nephews have joined forces with Elessar."

"Atarxerxes has always been weak," said Sarvenaz with a sniff. "He is not a rival to be taken seriously."

"I seem to recall that you had been about to marry him, my sweet," said the Magelord. Sarvenaz lifted her head to glance at him with eyes that were almost amber in colour.

"I did not say that I would marry him," she protested. "I merely said that the only man I could ever give myself to would be the king of Harad, and I urged him to take the throne, which he didn't. I was a fool for trying. He has not the heart of a true man. I am glad, for even if he had accepted the throne, we would've been a vassal to Gondor. Now Gondor shall be your vassal, my lord, along with Rohan and the elves and all those self righteous westerners."

They were so enraptured with themselves and their ambitions that they did not notice Guy leaving. He had other things in his mind. 'Let's see how strong you are when you finally fall into my grasp, Perfect Knight,' he thought.

* * *

Cassandra watched Briseis and Helen practise swordplay. Her cousin was more than enthusiastic, but she lacked finesse and attention to detail, unlike Helen, who, despite having seemed a little too delicate for such things, was learning the moves well.

"Never drop your guard, Briseis," said Éowyn. "You attack too much. Try to defend yourself as well."

"Achilles makes it look so easy," puffed Briseis.

"Your husband probably practises even more than mine," said Elizabeth. "He isn't exactly what you'd call normal."

"Well, Helen probably fights better than _her_ husband," said Briseis, giggling.

"Briseis, you are too hard on Paris," protested Helen.

"He's my cousin. I'm supposed to make fun of him."

Cassandra got up. She was in no mood to listen to banter about husbands, especially since the one she wanted had rejected her. The princess went wherever her feet led her, paying no attention to where she was going. She simply needed something to take her mind off the beautiful and exasperating Balian. Deep in her thoughts, she did not notice someone in her path until she bumped into him.

"I'm sorry!" both of them squeaked. Cassandra looked up to see the brown face of a boy that she had not seen before. She stepped to her right just as he stepped to his left. There were some nervous chuckles. Cassandra stepped to her left, and the boy stepped to his right. After a few moments of such awkward dancing, they both stopped, completely at a loss as to how they should behave in such a situation.

"I'm Bahram," said the boy, attempting to seem casual. His tattooed face was pleasant and open, even if he was not handsome like Balian.

"Cassandra," offered the princess. "I haven't seen you before, Bahram."

"I only came a few days ago," said Bahram. "Well, I was kidnapped and brought here, actually."

"Kidnapped?" said Cassandra, immediately interested. "By whom?"

"By a man called Imad and his golden-haired friend, Achilles, I think. They wanted to make my brother talk."

"_Imad_ kidnapped you?" said Cassandra incredulously. "Achilles, yes, I can imagine. He's a brute, but Imad?" she couldn't imagine that kind generous witty man kidnapping anyone, although she did know that he was a spymaster and had often interrogated men.

"Achilles isn't that bad," said Bahram. "He only threatened to hurt me. He didn't really do it, although that might be because Xerxes told them everything."

"_Xerxes_? You're the brother of the Haradrim sailor?"

"Actually, we're princes. He's only a sailor in disguise, but we're still in disguise, supposedly."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have told me so much."

"Why not? I don't think you'll betray me, will you?"

Cassandra smiled. "My lips are sealed," she said. "Your secret is safe with me."

"What about yourself? What are you doing in Gondor?" said Bahram. "I told you my story. It's only fair that you should tell me yours."

"It's very long," warned Cassandra.

"Just as well I have a lot of time on my hands and not much to do with it."

Cassandra started from the very beginning, when Hector and Paris had been sent to Sparta to negotiate a peace treaty with Menelaus. Perhaps it was the closeness of their ages, but Cassandra found herself telling the young Haradrim prince everything, even her feelings about Balian.

"You know," said Bahram. "I've never met Balian the Defender, but I'm already jealous of him, and I think he's an absolute fool."

"Balian's very intelligent," said Cassandra defensively.

"With some things, perhaps, but he's a fool because he can't see what a wonderful girl you are."

Cassandra's face turned bright red, and it had nothing to do with the outside temperature. "You're talking nonsense, Bahram of Harad," she said. "I shall not speak with you until you are sensible again." Secretly, she was very pleased that at least someone admired her, and Bahram really was a very sweet boy.

"Oh, don't do that, Cassandra, please?" Bahram deliberately made what Xerxes called the 'puppy face'. "I'll be good, I promise."

Cassandra giggled. "You are so silly, Bahram of Harad, but I like it," she said.

* * *

Balian was in the guest room on all fours, grinning from ear to ear. Barisian sat on his back, screeching with delight as he played 'horsie'. Astyanax was also giggling. "Baba," he said. He wanted a turn too.

"Balian, you get them too excited and they won't sleep tonight," said Andromache with a smile. Her needle flew in and out of the fabric rapidly, completing a row of neat even stitches. She tied off the thread and snapped it with her teeth. "If that happens, you're coaxing them to sleep. I'm definitely not doing it."

Balian stopped swinging Astyanax around for a moment. "It's not as if I do this every day, Andromache," he said. "Be reasonable. I'm going away tomorrow, and I won't be back for a while. I'll miss them."

"More, more!" said Barisian, tugging at his father's trouser leg.

"Careful, _mon petit bonhomme_," said Balian. "I don't want you to pull my trousers down."

"You will be coming back often, won't you?" said Andromache. "It's going to be so hard on the children. They adore you, you know."

"It's not hard to see why," said an amused voice from the doorway. Legolas stood there, grinning. Behind him were all the others.

"I think it's sweet," said Elizabeth, elbowing a sniggering Will. The admiral quickly turned his sniggering into unconvincing coughs.

"Captain Barbossa used to play horsie with me," commented Willie. "Didn't you, Cap'n?"

Barbossa cleared his throat and said nothing.

"Did you all come to find me?" said Balian.

"Well, I did," said Legolas. "Aragorn's called a meeting, and you have to attend. It's about the militias."

Balian set down Astyanax on the rug. Barisian looked up at him with doleful eyes, as if he understood that his father's attention was about to be diverted. Balian crouched down so that he was at eye level with his son. "Sorry, _mon_ _petit_," he said. "Papa's got to go."

"Papa no go," said Barisian, throwing his arms around his father's neck and clinging to him. He was too small and did not have the vocabulary to express it, but he was worried about something, something which he did not understand. All he knew was that his Papa should stay, or else bad things would happen.

"But I have to, _mon petit_," said Balian. "I promise I will come back."

"Papa come back?"

"Yes, Bari, I will come back."

Barisian let go reluctantly. Legolas looked very impressed. "You're natural parent, Balian," whispered the elf. "I doubt I would have that much patience."

Balian grinned. "When you have your own child, young elf, you will find out just how patient you really are," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" said Legolas. "Did _you_, the baby of the Fellowship, just call me young?"

"Yes, I did," said Balian, and then he ran as he tried to escape an insulted elf.

* * *

A grey day dawned. Andromache glanced outside and could not help but feel that today was particularly ominous. 'What's happening to me?' she wondered. 'Am I becoming like Cassandra?' She put it down to the weather; that, and the fact that Balian was leaving today and she knew she would miss him. She woke a groggy Barisian and dressed him. No doubt Balian would want to say goodbye to his son.

The man in question had been up since dawn, preparing for his trip to one of Gondor's poorer southern outlying towns, called Haranbar. He'd looked at the maps which Paris had found for him and almost memorized the geography. It was an isolated outpost, on flat desert, and very easy to attack. Why it hadn't already fallen was a total mystery, since the nearest garrison was ten miles away. Aragorn had been reluctant to send Balian there, due to the fact that he was not a native of Middle Earth and therefore might not be used to dealing with Gondorian administration, but there was no question that the Frank's skills as an engineer of war would come in useful.

"Be very careful, my friend," said Aragorn as Balian checked his saddle bags in the stable. "There will be things which you have not encountered before. Haranbar is close to the Road to Harad. You must always be on your guard."

"I will," said Balian. He was dressed in the garb of a Gondorian captain, with a shirt of mail rings gifted to him by Gimli. The long surcoat was black, with the White Tree and the seven stars of Gondor embroidered on it in pale grey silk which almost seemed silver. There was a sturdy leather belt about his waist, from which his sword hung.

"I expect reports from you at least weekly, Balian of Ibelin, captain of Gondor," said Aragorn, putting on his 'king' tone.

"I'll not fail you, Sire," said Balian. The two men looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

"We sound ridiculous," said Aragorn.

"No, _I_ sound ridiculous, like a commoner pretending to be a nobleman."

"But you _are_ a nobleman."

"Raised as a blacksmith's son."

"A blacksmith's son is good." Aragorn clapped Balian on the shoulder. "At least you can build siege engines, which is more than I can say for a lot of sons of aristocratic houses."

Balian joined the other captains —Achilles and a few other newly promoted men— in the courtyard just inside the gates of Minas Tirith. Legolas was also there. Even though he was technically not a subject of Aragorn's, he was leading Faramir's rangers in the defence of Ithilien.

Achilles stood rather stiffly. He was almost unrecognizable in his new armour. It was the first time he'd served any king out of his own volition, and also his first mission in Middle Earth. Who knew what might happen?

Aragorn gave his speech, outlining his hopes for the captains. "May you remember your oaths and serve Gondor well," he concluded. The men cheered and saluted him. Then it was time for the farewells.

Balian cuddled Barisian and the boy put a slobbery kiss on Balian's cheek. The man suddenly found his throat clogged up with emotion. "I'll be back soon," he said softly to his son. "I promise I will come back." Andromache was there too, with Astyanax.

"Show Balian your new word, darling," she said to her boy.

"Booboo," said Astyanax, waving a fat little hand at Balian.

"He means 'goodbye'," translated Andromache.

Balian grinned. The boys were growing up so quickly. Soon they wouldn't be babies anymore. "I hope I won't miss anything significant," he said. "I'll be thinking about all of you."

"The future baron of Ibelin has learned a new word too," said Imad. "I taught him. Come on, _amir_, show your papa."

"Sa-lahm," said Barisian.

"He just wished you peace, my friend," said Imad with a grin.

"Oh Barisian, you clever boy," said Balian, kissing his son on the cheek. Barisian giggled as his father's beard tickled him. "You're learning Arabic! Papa's little one is going to become a right scholar, yes he is."

Achilles kissed Briseis fully on the mouth, not caring who saw. Paris pretended that he didn't see them. "You look after yourself, my beautiful priestess," said Achilles. "Try not to get captured."

"And you, Achilles," said Briseis. "Don't get shot."

"I won't, if your cousin promises not to shoot me," said the Greek. He kissed her again. "And I just want you to know that I find you absolutely stunning when you're sweating with a sword in your hand. I'll be testing you on your skills when I come back."

* * *

Haranbar. It really wasn't much to look at. Barefooted children trailed Balian as he rode through dusty streets, searching for the governor's house. The dwellings of Haranbar were made of dried mud bricks, with thatched roofs. Hardly any visitors came, and the locals wondered what this strange man, no doubt an emissary of the king, was doing here with his armoured entourage of two men.

Balian dismounted and approached an old woman who was sweeping her doorstep. "Good dame," he said to the little old lady whose back had been bent by years of labour and toil. "Can you tell me where the governor dwells?"

The old woman glanced up at him, fearfully at first. And then, once he'd managed to convince her that he meant her absolutely no harm, she gave him a toothless smile and pointed him in the right direction. As he thanked her, she gripped his hand in her spotted wrinkled ones. "You tell the king everything that you see here, milord," she said in her thin trembling voice. "You tell him that we suffer. Please, do not raise the taxes anymore."

Balian was confused, but all the same, he gave her his word. She was so desperate that it would've been cruel not to. Aragorn had said that Haranbar was so poor that instead of levying taxes on the residents, he sent them financial aid, so why was this old woman talking about taxes?

Inwardly, he promised himself that he would demand the truth from the governor, Amancair Sirithion, and solve the mystery of non-existent taxation.

He mounted his horse again and led his men towards the governor's house. As soon as the blacksmith caught sight of it, he grew suspicious, and he began to understand what the old woman had been talking about. The people of Haranbar were poor, but the governor certainly was not. Two giant marble statues of snarling dragons guarded the entrance to the house. Even though there were hardly any trees to be seen, the doors were made of polished mahagony. How did Amancair get such expensive wood in a poor and dusty place such as this?

Balian dismounted and went up to the doors with his men. He hammered the door with his fist three times. It opened, just slightly, and a little man with a face like a rat peeked out.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I request to see the governor," said Balian as calmly as he could. From what he'd seen and heard, he'd already formed an opinion that Amancair was as corrupt as the worst of the lords back in France. No wonder the old woman had asked him to relay information back to the King. Aragorn would definitely hear of this.

"The governor is a busy man," said the rat-faced butler, getting ready to close the door, but Balian jammed his foot in the gap and then yanked the door open.

"He will see me," he said coldly, barging into the house with his two guards behind him. Balian was famous for many things, but not for his subtlety. At once, he was struck by Amancair's wealth. Rich tapestries hung everywhere, and there were enough treasures to run Gondor for at least a year. Amancair's rugs rivalled the luxury of those of Persian make, and everywhere, there were exquisite sculptures made of the finest marble. The hangings were edged with real gold thread. A very uncharitable thought came to his mind. 'If Jack and Barbossa wanted to do some pirating, I would recommend this house to them,' he thought. He marched further inside, with the butler following on his heels.

"How dare you!" said the little man in his reedy voice. "You...you will regret this..." He trailed off as Balian produced a document tied with a red ribbon. On the outside was a wax seal the colour of blood, depicting the White Tree with the seven stars of Gondor above it.

"The King has given me supreme authority in Haranbar," said Balian, recalling how his old friend Raymond of Tiberias had spoken when he had wanted to remind men of their place. "I am answerable to him alone." Those words sounded so odd coming from him that Balian could almost believe that it was Tiberias or Godfrey saying them, but not him. The butler took a step backwards and gaped at him.

Notes of music drifted in the air. Balian and his men followed the sound. They came to a closed hand-carved door. With a blow which would make Pintel seem courtly, Balian kicked the door open, not caring what damage he did.

A man, bedecked in silks and jewels was staring at him in shock, as were the scantily clad serving girls who'd been kneading his muscles and feeding him slices of fruit.

"The governor is busy indeed," said Balian. Cold righteous fury, as hard as his blade, filled his voice.

"Who are you?" demanded Amancair Sirithion, governor of Haranbar. "How dare you enter without my express permission?"

Instead of speaking, because he desperately wanted to curse the man, Balian untied the King's decree and held it up for Amancair to read.

"Oh, forgive me, Lord Balian," said Amancair, immediately apologetic. He bowed to Balian. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"Apparently not," said Balian darkly. "You know why I have come, so I will not waste time on the pleasantries." Quickly, curtly, he explained to Amancair what he wanted the governor to do. "Issue notices, conscripting at least one able-bodied male from every family into the militia."

"But my lord, such mass conscription will cost a lot," said the governor. "Where will you get the money?"

"Money does not seem to be a problem," said Balian. "The king has given you much financial aid, and the Steward before him, am I not correct?"

"Yes, but, that is not enough..."

Balian smiled coldly. "Well, if you put it that way, perhaps I can borrow from your wealth? All that gold which I have seen here, that will be quite sufficient. Consider it your sacrifice for the good of the people."

"What if I refuse?" said Amancair, drawing himself up to his full height, and even then, he barely reached Balian's chin. He tilted his head backward just so he could look down his nose at this new captain sent by the King.

"Then I shall inform His Majesty the King of where his financial aid went," said Balian. "Think carefully, Governor. Good day." With that, he marched out of the governor's house and went off in search of the barracks. He would issue his own conscription notices immediately, and inspect the supply levels. No military force could succeed without food.

* * *

Amancair sat in his study, brooding. He was not about to give up his wealth. The show that he'd put on first for Denethor and then Aragorn would be shattered once this young foreign upstart sent his first report back to Minas Tirith. He'd not longer be able to bleed wealth from Gondor, and without his wealth, how was he to maintain a good relationship with Harad and buy protection?

"Send out men to intercept Ibelin's messengers," he said to his butler. "We must not allow my lord Balian to contact the King. And then send messengers to Harad." He hadn't grovelled before Narbazanes for nothing. Now was the time to use this relationship between him and the Magelord.

* * *

"What fortuitous circumstances!" said Narbazanes after he'd dismissed Amancair's messenger. "The gods must favour us."

"What is it, Sire?" said Guy.

"Balian of Ibelin is in Haranbar. The governor, Sirithion, has invited us to raze it to the ground."

Guy's eyes gleamed. Destruction and looting; he liked the sound of that. He went before Narbazanes and knelt. "With your permission, Sire," he said, "I will lead a force to Haranbar and capture Balian of Ibelin."

"Yes, you would love that, wouldn't you, Guy de Lusignan?" said Narbazanes. "However, Ibelin is too important. I cannot let him escape. I will personally lead a force to Haranbar."

* * *

**A/N: **Hmm, Balian is a very tactful diplomat isn't he? Sarvenaz is my first ever OFC. Flame me to kingdom come if you don't like what I'm doing with her and I'll find some nasty way to kill her off. By the way, if you don't like her, I'll take it as a compliment ;)

(1) From the _Polovtsian Dances_ by Alexander Borodin (from the opera _Prince Igor_) Transl. David Lloyd-Jones


	17. The Game Begins

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters except Xerxes, Wulf, Bahram, Narbazanes and Sarvenaz. Oh, I also own Amancair Sirithion and Minalcar. The rest belong to various geniuses. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Smithy: **I just felt that with everyone else being warriors, and Paris not being one of those, he would probably have other talents, such as being a diplomat or at least a wily politician. He certainly showed intelligence towards the end of _Troy_. Thanks for reviewing.

**Chapter 16: The Game Begins**

The stars and moon were veiled by heavy dark clouds, giving no light. Everything seemed to be shrouded in darkness. In his tent in the barracks, Balian sat writing a report by candlelight. The scratching of his quill was the only sound which he was making. Somewhere, a dog barked, but apart from that, all was silent. It was as if the people of Haranbar had been scared into silence.

He signed off the document and sealed it with wax. Tomorrow, he would get one of his men to deliver it to Minas Tirith.

From a distance, Narbazanes observed the barracks. The Gondorians were on their guard, yes, but they did not seem to be expecting an attack. The wrapped hooves of their horses made no noise on the dry sandy ground. Only the faint glittering of cold steel blades indicated that there was an army there. The Magelord raised his hand and then pointed at the sleeping town. The Haradrim force closed in on Haranbar.

"My lord!" one of the men cried to Balian. "We're under attack!"

"Of all the strokes of ill-fortune!" said the Frank. He grabbed his sword. There was no time even to don his armour. It was chaotic outside. The thatched roofs of the houses were burning. Fires lit up the night sky. Armoured men swarmed into the ill-fortified town like fire-ants over a corpse. They shouted to each other in their harsh tongue. Balian understood none of what was being said, but it was not hard to guess the context. Pillaging armies all had one thing on their minds.

With duty being his only thought, he rushed into the melee, even though his men were trying to convince him to retreat to safety. The jostling bodies of men surrounded him as he cut and slashed. His blade became darkened. The salty metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils and lingered at the back of his throat. Hot liquid sprayed onto his face. A shield slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. His sword was wrenched from his hand, and it disappeared into the darkness. He reached for anything, anything that might be used as a weapon. His hand closed on a broken spearhead, and he plunged that into the face of a man who was trying to stab him.

In the turmoil of battle, Balian heard someone call out to him. "My lord Balian!" said Amancair from his relatively safe vantage point, surrounded by a ring of protective Haradrim soldiers. "Did you really think I would let you leak my secret to that ranger on the throne?"

"You treacherous leech!" roared Balian, trying to force his way through. Red filled his mind. He wanted to kill the man and really make him pay for his betrayal. Someone grabbed him by the hair. The hilt of a sword came down on his skull. There was a crack. Pain lanced through his head, and then everything faded.

* * *

Amancair turned to Narbazanes, certain that he would be rewarded for his aid in capturing the man whom the King of Harad needed the most. The Magelord's face was emotionless. He nodded at his guards, who at once seized the former governor of Haranbar.

"What is the meaning of this, my lord?" cried Amancair. "I have helped you! I have only ever been loyal to you!"

"So you say," said Narbazanes nonchalantly, examining one of the beautiful jewelled swords which his men had looted from Sirithion's mansion. "But I have little faith in a man who willingly betrays his own king and kin. Who knows when you might decide to betray me? However, I will take into account that you have served me well in the past, and you will be rewarded." Without warning, the Magelord thrust the blade through Amancair's ribs and drove it in until the hilt met flesh. Blood dribbled from the Gondorian's open mouth in dark rivulets. "I will give you a quick death," whispered Narbazanes.

He pulled the bloodied blade from Amancair's body. The man fell. Narbazanes wiped his sword clean on the dead man's clothes and then tossed it to a soldier. "Burn this hovel to the ground," he said. "Let Gondor know how cruel I can be."

* * *

A crisp morning dawned in Southern Ithilien. Legolas, high in the treetops, took a deep breath. Being an elf, he was able to perch on the topmost branches and not break them. This gave him an advantage, since his view there was unobstructed and he could see for miles in every direction. Minas Tirith gleamed like a white jewel in the morning sun. Aragorn would be up and already holding meetings with his counsellors. The elf turned his gaze to the south east, and then he frowned. A plume of smoke was rising roughly where Haranbar should be. In his heart, Legolas knew that something was very wrong. He clambered out of the tree, leaping nimbly from branch to branch as if he had wings on his feet.

The men were just preparing to break their fast, and they looked up as Legolas landed lightly on the ground. The elf's second in command, a ranger by the name of Alcarin, noticed his expression of unease. "Is there something wrong, my lord?" he asked.

"There has been a slight change of plan," said Legolas as calmly as possible. The last thing he needed to do was to instil fear in his men. "Alcarin, you stay and guard Ithilien. Minastir, Tarannon, Aldamir and Minardil, you come with me. Send word back to Minas Tirith and tell the king that I have gone to Haranbar."

"May I ask why?" said Alcarin. "It is all very sudden, and I thought Lord Balian was in charge of Haranbar."

"It's just a feeling," said Legolas. "I need to go, and there is no time for questions."

"Heed the instincts of the elves," said one of the other men. "My Da always said that it would be foolish not to."

Alcarin nodded. "I shall do as you say, my lord," he said. "If you are not back by nightfall..."

"Do not send out men to look for me," said Legolas. "If I am not back by sun-up tomorrow, send for reinforcements. Now more than ever, I am certain that we are at war."

The men moved to follow their orders. Among those remaining in Ithilien was a man called Minalcar, who was son of Mardil. He had been the man who'd first told Aragorn that the mysterious raiders had come from Harad. He quietly crept away. Once he was certain that he was alone, he gave a high whistle which sounded like the call of a bird. He did this three times in succession.

A small man, completely hidden by brown and green fabric, save for his eyes, seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"Quickly," said Minalcar to the Haradrim. "Return to the Master at once and tell him that Southern Ithilien is ready to fall."

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was a terrible headache. The second thing he was aware of was that he couldn't move his limbs at all when he tried to put his hand to his head. Balian groaned and opened his eyes. His vision swam at first and it was some time before everything came into focus. He saw he was lying somewhere dark, and he was chained to what seemed like a stone altar. He was also naked. The ridges of the carvings dug into his back.

"I see you are awake at last," said an oily and painfully familiar voice.

"Guy de Lusignan," said Balian hoarsely. Even that could not detract from the disdain in his voice. "I should've known."

"Now, now, don't blame yourself," said Guy, bending over the chained man and resembling a cat who was looking down at a caged mouse. "How can you, a lowly bastard blacksmith, understand the plans of great lords and kings?" He fingered the leather whip in his hand.

"What I truly don't understand is the cowardice which lurks inside you, Guy," said Balian. He knew he was in trouble. Could he possibly be in a worst situation than he was in now, naked, chained, and at the mercy of his enemy? Since he could do nothing to harm Guy, at least physically, he had to resort to using words. "A eunuch would have more courage than you," he spat, remembering Jack's terrible jokes.

Guy's whip whistled as it cut into the smooth skin of Balian's belly. A line of red appeared. Balian tensed with the pain and gritted his teeth just in time to stop a cry from escaping. He would not let Guy have the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He'd been beaten before, and he'd survived. He could survive again.

"Not so strong now, are you, Perfect Knight?" taunted Guy. "Go on, insult me, curse me. Where is your strength now?" he spread his arms. "You are no more than a prisoner, a slave, and you are at my mercy."

"I shall never beg you for mercy," said Balian.

"Won't you?" said Guy, bringing the whip down again, this time tearing through the flesh on Balian's chest. Balian turned his face away and shut his eyes tightly as the blows rained down on his body. With each blow, a new line of red appeared and he jerked in pain. His flesh was being mercilessly torn to shreds by Guy's violent hate-fuelled lashes. He was helpless, like an animal that had been prepared for sacrifice.

"Enough," said a deep voice. The blows stopped. Balian opened his eyes again and lifted his head so he could better see what was going on. A man in billowing black robes had stepped into the room. His eyes glittered in the dim light. Guy bowed deeply to him.

"My lord, I was merely teaching him a lesson," began Guy.

"Not one more word from you, Lusignan, until I have spoken to him," said the man in black robes. "Is this how you treat guests in your nation? It is barbaric."

Balian's brow furrowed in confusion. This man was obviously Guy's master. Why didn't Guy's master want to hurt him...yet?

"You must be Balian of Ibelin," said the man. "I have heard of your name."

"Who are you?" said Balian.

"Ah, perhaps you have not realized. You are in Mordor. Now, there is no need to fear me, although you will have heard stories about me. I am Narbazanes, King of Harad—"

"You're the Magelord who usurped the throne," said Balian, cutting Narbazanes off in the middle of his introduction. Anger flashed in the Magelord's eyes, but it was gone almost before Balian could notice it.

"If you insist on showing me in a bad light, then yes, I _usurped_ the throne which was rightfully mine," said the Magelord. "Then again, I suppose you have met my nephews, and they are biased against me."

"What do you want with me?" demanded Balian. "I am not important."

"Not important? My dear Balian, you are very important. In fact, you are so important that I have a favour to ask of you."

"Ask, but I won't agree."

Narbazanes clenched his hands into fists. The man obviously wanted to die. He was being so insolent that even the Magelord found it difficult to maintain a mask of friendliness. "You are an 

honest man, so I shall be entirely honest with you. I need you to be the commander of my armies, answerable to me alone."

"You want me to serve you?" said Balian. He managed a mirthless laugh. "No. I will never serve you and betray my friends."

"Balian, we can do this in a civilized manner, or we can do this by force," said Narbazanes.

"You can try."

The Magelord sighed dramatically. "I expected you to say that," he said, holding his hand out for something. A servant handed him a glass orb, filled with swirling vapours. He held it up, examining its perfect smoothness and the eerie grey of the vapours inside it. Narbazanes put it beneath Balian's nose and then crushed the glass in his gloved hand. Unprepared for this, Balian inhaled some of the vapours. Immediately, memories which he had tried to bury rose to the surface. Once more, he held his wife's dead body in his arms, and he felt pain and despair. Voices echoed in his head. _Bastard, bastard_, said the voices. They surrounded him. There was no escape. _Scum of the earth, unworthy..._

"You're wrong," he croaked. He felt as if he was a child again, weak, defenceless. He couldn't even distinguish the truth from the lies now.

_Are we? _said the voices. He saw himself surrounded by flames. He could feel the tongues of fire licking at his flesh, burning him. _Godfrey only claimed you because he had no other heirs_. They seemed to close in on him, like a net of scorn. _Your own mother wanted to kill you in the womb. Sibylla used you. She wanted you to be king so she could hold onto power. You are a pawn, Balian; a tool, nothing more. _

Narbazanes smiled as he dug up Balian's darkest memories and added them to what he had seen in the palantir. He closed his eyes and reached deeper into the man's mind, twisting memories until the man could feel nothing but despair and pain. All he knew was the pain that these 'memories' were causing him, and he wanted to escape. In amidst the lies, one voice spoke out to him. He didn't recognize it at first, but then he realized that it was _his_ voice.

'Hold onto hope,' he heard his other self say. 'Remember your oath.'

"Be without fear in the face of your enemies," Balian mumbled. He repeated the words again, gaining strength with each repetition. The effects of the vapours were fading. Narbazanes watched the progress and sighed. Breaking the Defender was a much more difficult process than it had originally seemed.

"Do with him what you will," he said to Guy. "I want his spirit broken, but don't damage him too much. I want him alive and whole after you are finished with him."

"I understand, Sire," said Guy. All of a sudden, his mood improved.

* * *

Destruction greeted him as Legolas rode into Haranbar. Everything had been razed to the ground. Some parts of the ruins were still smouldering. Bodies lay strewn on the ground like a gruesome carpet of flesh. From what he could see, there were no survivors. However, he refused to believe it. Balian could not be dead. That foolhardy man always survived, no matter what. Valar, they'd even traipsed through Hell and lived to tell the tale.

"Search this place," he said to his men. "Leave no stone unturned. There may well be survivors. We just can't see them." He leapt off his horse's back to join in the search, flipping over bodies in the hopes of finding someone who'd managed to escape this cruel bloody act of barbarism.

Aldamir gritted his teeth in anger and disgust as he lifted a partially burnt corpse. A glint of metal caught his eye. Obviously something had escaped the pillaging army. He scrabbled through the rubble, revealing a sword hilt. The ranger pulled out the fine weapon. There was a ruby in the hilt. Obviously its owner had not been just any soldier. A ruby. Something seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Lord Legolas!" he called. "I've found something!"

Legolas turned and hurried over. "Did you find a survivor?" he asked.

"No, but I found this," said Aldamir, showing the elf the weapon.

The world seemed to fade away for Legolas. The only thing he was aware of was the finely crafted blade and the sparkling ruby. The last time he'd seen it, it had been hanging from the belt of one of his dearest friends. "It's Balian's sword," he whispered. "He has been taken."

* * *

Mist crept in from the Anduin, veiling the forest of Ithilien in a ghostly shroud. Alcarin peered out into the night. He could see nothing, but that did nothing to ease his suspicions that there was something out there, lying in wait.

A fleet of ships cut silently through the waters of the Anduin, getting closer and closer to the forest. They had not lit any torches, but the dark did not hinder them. They'd sailed this way often. The captains signalled to their men to lower the gangplanks. They crept out of the ships and onto dry land. A group of rangers should not be too difficult to deal with. Narbazanes had thought that one hundred men would be enough.

Their feet made no sound on the forest floor. The ranger camp was in sight. They could see the shapes of men. One of the Haradrim gave a signal. Arrows whistled through the moisture laden night air to lodge themselves in the Gondorians' bodies. One of them gave a shout.

Alcarin whipped around when he heard the alarm. Dark forms were emerging from the mist. It seemed that once again, the Magelord had gotten one step ahead. "Retreat!" he shouted to his men, but it was too late. The trees surrounding them burst into flames. The Haradrim surrounded them, trapping them in a thicket of spears and blades which glistened in the firelight. There was no way out except to cut a passage through the ranks of the enemy. In red glow of the flames, Alcarin recognized the face of one of the enemy.

"Minalcar?" he said. "You..."

"You did not think that the Master would've allowed anyone to escape if he had not willed it, did you?" said Minalcar. "Gondor will fall, and the West along with it. Those who have served the Master will be rewarded."

The Haradrim charged. Their conversation was over.

* * *

It was Xerxes turn to be the lookout in the crow's nest. He had Captain Swann's spyglass. Their beautiful standard had been lowered for now. The Haradrim turned his gaze towards the forest of Ithilien. It was aflame.

"What?!" he said, taking the spyglass away from his eye. Even without it he could see the fire clearly.

"Wot?" said Jack's voice from below.

"Ithilien is burning! It's under attack!"

"How far is it?" demanded Will.

"It's about...two miles downstream," said Xerxes, trying to determine how long it would take them to get there. "Narbazanes is a wily old fox."

"Well, he didn't plan on having us get in the way," said Anna-Maria. "Orders, Admiral?"

"Hoist sails!" hollered Will. He rapidly shouted out orders and the men scrambled about on the deck to obey him. The _Salty Wench_ glided on the river. Her oars splashed as the men put all their strength into rowing. Aragorn had trusted them enough to allow them to form his navy. They were not about to fail him just yet.

* * *

Alcarin could hear the waters of the Anduin splashing behind him. The rangers had managed to cut their way out of what seemed like the hordes of enemies, but to what avail? They were now trapped between the Haradrim and the river, with no place to run. The men were tiring quickly. Half of their number had been cut down by the wicked curved blades of their enemies. He'd failed the king, failed Legolas.

Minalcar smiled. How valiant of the rangers, and how foolish. Didn't they see that no one who opposed the most powerful man in Harad, and possibly Middle Earth, would succeed? "Alcarin," he called. "Do you yield?"

"Do I look like I'm yielding?" Alcarin managed to shout back as he parried a curved blade and pushed his sword into the body of a man who'd been about to decapitate him. Blood splashed onto his face, adding to the dark mask that he was already wearing.

"A pity," said Minalcar. "You would've served the Master well."

"I serve only one master, and his name is Elessar, King of Gondor!"

"Unlike some, Minalcar of Gondor, son of Mardil, some men have a sense of honour," drawled a voice with the unmistakeable accent of a Haradrim. In his elation, Minalcar had failed to notice that another ship had joined the Haradrim fleet. He peered into the mist. All he could see was the ship's body, and a black standard with a skull in the centre. All the rest became unimportant. He'd never seen such a standard before, but that voice. He knew it well enough.

"Atarxerxes?" he said softly, not really believing that his flawless plan did have flaws after all. He'd underestimated that rabble of pirates.

"Stand by, me hearties!" called Jack to the rest of the crew. "Prepare to send them all to greasy black guts' hell!"

"Valar bless you, Admiral Turner," whispered Alcarin as the Gondorian 'navy' rushed ashore and joined in the melee. Will quickly engaged Minalcar in battle. The Gondorian was strong, but Will was quicker. He jumped out of the way as Minalcar attempted a downward slash which would've cleaved him from head to sternum and then scored a light gash on the man's arm, cutting through a tendon and rendering the limb useless.

Anna-Maria and Elizabeth fought back to back, proving themselves to be capable and fierce warriors, if not entirely honourable. Elizabeth pulled out her pistol and shot a man in the face just as he was about to attack Will from behind. "That'll teach you," she said through gritted teeth.

Barbossa seemed to be managing well. The Haradrim were all hesitating before engaging him in battle. "Come to me, ye mangy dogs!" snarled the pirate. "I'm gonna have yer guts for riggin'!"

Jack was dancing just out of reach of a huge Haradrim who was wielding a flail. "You can't catch me, matey," said the grinning Sparrow. "Who am I?"

The Haradrim growled and lunged for Jack. Jack tried to jump and tripped on a tree's root. He fell flat on his back and the flail missed him completely. The force of the swing overbalanced the big man. As he fought to regain his balance, Ragetti and Pintel attacked him from behind, and retreated immediately when he retaliated. Jack picked himself up off the ground and dusted himself off. "You stupid blighters never seem to know the answer to that vital question," he grumbled. "I'm _the_ Captain Jack Sparrow."

Xerxes lost count of how many men he'd cut down. He felt no remorse, even though they were his kinsmen. Some of them had fought alongside him during his father's numerous battles of expansion. They'd betrayed him when they'd given their allegiances to Narbazanes. In Xerxes simple world of good and evil, they deserved to die. One man could not have two masters.

With the unexpected reinforcements, the Haradrim raiders were slowly forced back. Minalcar had no choice but to retreat, or to lose his entire contingent to the merciless blades of the Gondorian navy. Some of them managed to get back to their ships and sail away. The rest of the ships had been taken over by the Gondorian sailors. By the time morning dawned, the Gondorians had somehow managed to emerge victorious.

"Well, victory in defeat," said Will, splashing his blood and soot covered face with water and then taking a few thirsty gulps.

"Thank goodness you came, Admiral," said Alcarin as one of his men bandaged his shoulder. "If not, I think we would be greeting Mandos right now."

"I shudder to think what could've happened," said Elizabeth. "A traitor in our ranks..." Will bit his lip and said nothing. Once, a long time ago, he hadn't been any better than Minalcar. Elizabeth noticed the expression on his face and squeezed his arm comfortingly.

"You did it for a noble cause," she said so softly that only he could hear her. "You did it to save your father."

"But I put you in danger," said Will. Elizabeth smiled and kissed him on the lips. He tasted of smoke and sweat, but she didn't care. He was her Will.

"We're all right now," she said when she finally released him. Jack sniggered and made faces at the couple, while Ragetti and Pintel whistled. Barbossa pretended that he didn't see anything wrong with passionate kisses during the aftermath of a violent battle and calmly stroked Jack the monkey.

"With all that heat between you two, I think that the Whelplet might just be getting a sibling soon," said Jack. "Hey, Whelp, how would I do as a godparent?"

"Horribly, Jack," said Will. "You've already influenced Willie too much for my liking."

"Aw, you mean you're jealous because your son is a thousand times more charming than you could ever hope to be?" said Jack.

"Willie is charming, but not because of your influence."

"Wot, he's charming because of Scraggly Beard's influence?" Jack scratched his chin. "I is finding that rather hard to believe. Are you sure you haven't been having too much absinthe?"

"Absinthe?" said Elizabeth. She turned to her husband sternly and placed her hands on her hips. "Will, what is Jack talking about?"

Will grimaced. He'd known that Elizabeth would not approve. Why did Jack always have to tell people what they didn't need to know?

"Where is Legolas, by the way," he said, trying to change the subject.

"He went to Haranbar, Admiral," said Alcarin.

"Haranbar? That's where Balian is stationed. Why is Legolas there?"

Alcarin shook his head. He didn't understand elves much. "He said it was a feeling."

"What feeling?" said Jack. "Ah well, I always knew there was something not right in his head."

"Maybe you could ask him, Sparra," said Barbossa, peering through his spyglass. "He be comin' this way, an' he ain't lookin' happy 'bout somethin'."

True enough, Legolas didn't even complain about the navy's 'hideous' standard the way he usually did. He took in the charred trees and the bodies of Haradrim and Gondorians on the ground. "What happened?" he demanded.

"The Hardy Men attacked," said Jack.

"Jack, it's _Haradrim_," corrected Anna-Maria. "Get ya words right!"

"We managed to beat them back," said Will.

"Aye, and got a few new ships too," said Barbossa, waving at said ships. Legolas simply nodded. His mind seemed to be on other, more sombre things. Will noticed it.

"Is there something wrong, Legolas?" he asked.

"Balian has been taken," said the elf, showing them the blacksmith's sword. There was silence as they took in the sight of the soot and blood covered weapon. It was odd to see it without its owner.

"That poor little boy," murmured Elizabeth, unconsciously drawing closer to Will. "To be an orphan at such a young age is unthinkable, and all he'll have left of his father is this..."

"No," said Will. "I refuse to believe that Balian is dead. He'll come back. You'll see."

"Aye," said Jack. "That fella's as tough as a pirate."

"But what if he doesn't come back?" said Anna-Maria.

"Barisian won't be an orphan, I promise you that," said Will adamantly. "We'll all be his fathers."

"And mothers and uncles and grandfathers," added Jack.

"Trust me when I say that little mite won't be abandoned," said Barbossa. "The more pressin' matter be that the enemy is closin' in on us."

* * *

Agony consumed him. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming, but no matter how hard Balian tried, he could not hold back his cries of pain. Sweat coursed down his body, mingling with blood. His wounds burned. Guy had been merciless. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath.

"Had enough yet, Perfect Knight?" said Guy with a smirk. "You know you only have to beg. I am a merciful man and if you begged hard enough, I think I might just call it a day."

"You've been smoking _hashish_ if you think I'll beg you," said Balian. His voice sounded so tired that he almost didn't recognize it. 'Brave words, Balian,' he thought. 'You know you're in big trouble this time.' Unlike orcs, Narbazanes and Guy were not torturing him for the sake of causing him pain. He knew that they had a greater purpose for him, whatever that was, and he was not too keen on finding out what it was. His thoughts turned to his son; his innocent precious vulnerable baby son. If he died, what would become of the boy? He would be an orphan, and he wasn't even old enough to understand death.

"Do you know what your biggest mistake was, Balian?" said Guy as he examined a small but sharp knife, turning it over in his hands and holding it up to a torch. "You failed to kill me even when you had the chance."

"I was a fool for hoping that you could ever learn chivalry," croaked the chained man.

"Yes," agreed Guy. "Hope makes us do foolish things." He pressed the edge of the blade into the flesh just above Balian's sternum. Fresh blood welled up. Guy traced a line down Balian's body and stopped just as he reached his victim's navel. "I'd love to cut you deeper, but the Master wants you alive."

"You're a coward, Guy," spat Balian in his agony. "You have me here, tied down like a sacrificial sheep and yet you still do not have the courage to kill me."

Guy stiffened, knowing that it was true. He'd love to kill Balian, slowly and painfully, but he was frightened of what Narbazanes would do if he disobeyed him. Instead of answering, he signalled to the orcs to untie Balian. "You'll pay for that, my dear baron," said Guy.

Balian wanted to hit out at the man, but the orcs' hold on him was too tight, and his strength had been drained. Still, he struggled. The orcs hit him with their fists and whips to subdue him. They forced him onto his knees before a cauldron of water, and then before he even had the time to fill his lungs with air, his head was pushed into the liquid. He strained against the iron grip of his tormentors, but to no avail. His lungs burned as his small air supply was quickly used up. He began to feel light headed. Blood roared in his ears, and then his head was released, and he was allowed a few meagre gulps of air before his head was submerged again.

He didn't know how many times the process was repeated, but with each repetition, he grew weaker. His limbs had no more strength in them. He stopped trying to fight and concentrated on breathing as much as possible when he was given those moments of short respite. At last, when the orcs allowed him up for air, he sagged in their grip, spluttering and coughing up water, only half-aware of his surroundings.

"My lord," said the orcs to Guy. "Anymore an' the scum will drown."

"Chain him up again," said Guy. "This will do for now. We'll leave the Perfect Knight some time to think about his situation."

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, Balian's in big trouble. The Gondorian navy has more ships now, so that's a good thing. Reviews, please?


	18. The Clutches of Hell

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that you recognize. If the character has a Persian name, then they probably are of my own imagination.

**Chapter 17: The Clutches of Hell**

Aragorn stared at the sword which lay on his desk. He fingered the ruby, brushing his thumb gently over its many facets. His friends were all gathered in the room. No one said anything. They were too embroiled in their own sombre thoughts. An atmosphere of doom and despair hung over them like a heavy dark curtain which threatened to smother their courage and hope.

The King of Gondor had recalled all his captains from the settlements near the Eastern border. After what had happened to Balian, he couldn't risk any more of them meeting the same fate. The towns and villages near the border had been evacuated. It was better to give up that territory and conserve manpower than to lose both. The Fields of Pelennor now sported a refugee camp of thousands.

Éomer had left for Rohan. With tensions rising, and war inevitable, he was needed back in his country. There, the King of the Horselords would be preparing his people and rallying his troops, getting them ready to ride to Gondor's aid if the need arose.

In the corner of the study, Éowyn cuddled Balian's son. The little boy kept pointing at the sword and asking about his father. "Papa back?" said the child, looking up at her with large enquiring eyes.

"Hush, little one," said Éowyn, kissing the boy on the top of his head. The soft down-like hair would grow to be like his father's mop of curls in time. Simply the thought of this sweet child growing up without the two most important people in his life made her want to weep. She'd grown up like that and she wouldn't wish this life on anyone, maybe with the exception of those vagabonds who'd taken Balian, oh, and Grima Wormtongue. At least she'd had Éomer, her cousin Théodred, and before his mind had been completely overthrown, Théoden. "He's going to be back very soon. You'll see."

Barisian looked at her suspiciously with the innocent wisdom which all children seemed to have. He seemed a bit dubious, as if he could tell that something was wrong, although Éowyn was almost certain that he did not understand what was going on.

"There's something very odd about all of this," said Legolas, shaking his head. He rubbed his temples. A frown marred his smooth forehead. "I can almost see it. Why did they destroy Haranbar, but only Haranbar? None of the other settlements were attacked. And they only destroyed the town. They didn't occupy it. That shows the town wasn't what they were after, but what were they after?"

"They could've taken Haranbar long ago," said Paris, peering closely at a map of Gondor and tapping the spot marked 'Haranbar' with a finger. "Why wait until after Balian's arrival?"

"Do you think they could've been after _him_?" ventured Helen timidly. It felt awkward to take part in any sort of council. That was the business of men. Women played no part in politics except as wares to bargain with. However, she'd felt the need to say it.

The men looked at each other. "Why would they want Balian?" asked Achilles.

"He's chosen by God," said Imad grimly. "He told me everything, about his immortality, his journey through Hell. He was sent to do God's work. I should've done something. I—"

"You what, Imad?" said Will. "What could you have done? It's not your fault."

Imad knew that Will was right, but that didn't make him feel any better. Deep in his heart, the Arab kept on asking himself questions. Could he have saved Balian?

Up until now, Xerxes had remained silent, listening to all the theories and absorbing the information. "You say the Defender is chosen by the gods," he said suddenly from his position by the wall.

"Yes," said Paris, turning to the Haradrim.

"Then by logical extension, he is divinely blessed, no?"

"Well, it makes sense that he's blessed," said Jack. "He passed through Hell an' got nuthin' more than a couple o' bruises to show fer it. If that ain't lucky, then I dunno what is."

"And he has a strong spirit?" said the Haradrim prince.

Legolas snorted, remembering his friend's stubborn nature. "If only you knew," he said.

"Then you have an answer," said Xerxes. He unfolded his arms. "Narbazanes wants the Defender not only for his skill in battle but also for the power which lies in him. He wants to harness that man's blessings and use the strength of his spirit for his own means."

"I don't understand," said Faramir. "How can Narbazanes use Balian's blessings and spirit?"

"Narbazanes has long been a servant and student of the dark powers," explained Xerxes. "I do not know how, but he can use the life of others to fuel his own powers."

"Wot, like the way fleas live and feed on a man?" asked Jack, scratching his shoulder. He reminded himself to take a bath sometime in the near future. Said fleas were getting very annoying. He'd probably gotten them from either Ragetti or Pintel.

"Very much so," said Xerxes with a sigh.

"Valar," breathed Aragorn. "I pray that is not what has happened to our friend."

"So do I," said the Haradrim.

* * *

In his dark confines, Balian lost track of space and time. There seemed to be voices in the emptiness, whispering words of despair. Pain-filled hours mingled and merged, and the voices grew louder and louder until they drowned out all traces of hope and he was not aware of anything but them.

He relived his most terrible memories; they were as fresh and vivid as the bloodstains on the cold stone altar. The grief and pain and despair were slowly driving him mad. Neither his mind nor his body could take anymore of the torments which Narbazanes was throwing at him. Balian just wanted to escape; he didn't care how.

Guy could see his enemy growing weaker with each passing day, and he relished in his enemy's helplessness. This was but a shadow of the man who'd stood proudly on the battlements of the Holy City, glaring with defiance at the Sultan of the infidels after he'd thrown the standard of the Crescent off those sacred walls.

And yet, as broken as he was, there was still something left in the man. Each time Narbazanes commanded Balian to serve him, the man weakly but resolutely uttered "no". The Magelord tried everything, but nothing seemed to be able to convince Balian to change his allegiances. Narbazanes was reaching the end of his patience. He needed a man to lead his armies, and he needed him now. Everything was in motion, but how was one to play a game of chess without players?

Sarvenaz watched her master pace in his cold throne room. He'd been in a foul mood lately, lashing out at everyone and anyone when the slightest thing went wrong. "Why do you not use the remaining glass orbs which the Dark Lord had left behind?" asked the woman.

Narbazanes stopped his pacing and sighed. Oh yes, he'd thought of that, but Sarvenaz did not know of the dangers of using those. With the aid of his servants, Sauron had managed to harness the negative energy given off by suffering and despair, and he'd trapped it in those little glass orbs. Just a small amount was enough to overrun the mind of a normal man. Balian was no ordinary man, but he was not invincible. Narbazanes feared that using too much of the negative energy on him would render him useless. The Magelord wanted a servant who would obey him, advise him, and lead his armies to victory, not the broken shell of a man.

Seeing that the Magelord had not responded, Sarvenaz went to him and laid her hand on his arm. He turned to gaze at her face. The cunning and ambition in his eyes made her heart quicken. Yes, he could give her what she wanted. Too long had she been under the command of others. For years, she'd planned and schemed, and finally here she was, only one step away from being Queen of Harad and possibly all of Middle Earth.

"He has not yet broken, and the hour grows late, my lord," she said. "Will you not try?"

"And what if it fails?" said Narbazanes. "I have not worked so long for all my dreams to come to nothing. I need him, Sarvenaz."

"And you will not have him if you do not do this," she said gently but firmly. The woman sighed. "Will you not let me try, my lord?"

"You?" said Narbazanes, raising an eyebrow. The beginnings of a smile formed on his lips. "What can you possibly do that I cannot, my sweet?"

"Balian the Defender, despite everything, is still a man," said Sarvenaz, walking in slow lazy circles around her master. She gave a wily smile. "Perhaps all he needs is a woman's touch."

The Magelord chuckled. He caught her and began tracing a finger from her jaw down her neck and finally settling his hand on the curve of her breast. "Perhaps," he said. "But I wonder, what do you mean by a woman's touch?"

* * *

Guy remained outside the closed door of the chamber. Narbazanes and Sarvenaz had gone in. His ear was pressed against the worn wood. It was very odd that the Magelord would allow his favourite consort to attempt something like this. She was a woman, and no matter how beautiful she was, a woman would surely be weaker than a man? He was certainly anxious, should Sarvenaz prove herself more capable of breaking a man than he was, but he was also curious.

At first, everything was silent. Guy heard Sarvenaz murmuring to the barely lucid Balian. Her voice was muffled and he could not make out the words. Suddenly, a tremor shook the building. There was screaming and whimpering. Guy's face was pale with fear, but he was riveted. What in Satan's name was going on?

As abruptly as the commotion had started, silence descended. Then he heard Balian's voice. It was strangely cold and devoid of emotion, as if it was another man speaking. "My lord," he said. Narbazanes' laugh resounded and echoed through the corridor. Guy cursed. Once again, the Perfect Knight had gotten the better of him.

Far away in the city of Minas Tirith, Barisian woke up wailing.

* * *

Legolas hated waiting. In all of his two thousand nine hundred and thirty three years, he'd never managed to hone his patience. He turned away from the eastward facing window and began pacing again. His feet made no sound on the floorboards.

"Stop it, mate, will ya?" said Jack irritably, pouring himself more rum from a crystal decanter. Will wasn't sure he wanted to know where the pirate had obtained it. "It's makin' me dizzy, and you wearin' down the floor won't help our nanny in distress."

"So you're saying I should sit back and watch everything unfold?" demanded the elf.

"Pretty much," said Jack, downing his rum and reaching for more, only to find that someone else had consumed the rest of it. He muttered a string of curses. Willie listened intently to see if he could add any more to his growing list.

"I'd hate to say this, Legolas, but Jack's right," said Paris. "We don't even know where Balian is."

At that, Will had a thought. "What is it that you want most?" he asked. His eyes gleamed and he looked at Jack pointedly.

"Wot?" said Jack, holding up his hands.

"Jack, hand over the compass," said Elizabeth.

"No!" said the pirate. Barbossa's hand went to his pistol.

"Ye had better do as the lass tells ye, Sparra," said the old pirate. He was loving this.

"When Mama says something, you don't say no, Uncle Jack-Jack," said Willie innocently.

"From the mouth of babes," said Achilles with a grin.

"Hey, I'm not a baby!" protested the youngest Turner. "I'm six!"

Jack gave up and handed Will his compass. "I expect compensation, Whelp," he grumbled.

"I'm borrowing this _with_ permission," said Will.

"That makes him a right sight better than you, Jack Sparrow," said Anna-Maria.

"_Captain_!" protested Jack. "How many times do I have to remind you that I have a ship?"

Will opened the compass and the needle was pointing at Elizabeth. They looked at each other. "We need someone else to hold it," he said. "Who wants Balian most in the world?"

"William, if you need to ask that question then you really are a stupid blighter," said Jack.

"Oh give it to me," said Imad. He took the compass in his hands. The needle spun lazily and then stopped. Paris bit back a groan. It was pointing directly at Mordor.

* * *

Guy watched Balian survey his surroundings. The man had healed amazingly quickly. The former king was certain that there was some supernatural devilry involved. Now the only reminders of those injuries were pale lines on the tanned skin. His clothes hid all of that anyway. He now resembled a lord of the noblest blood, more so than Guy did.

He stood on the balcony of his new quarters, staring out across the gathered contingents of orcs, men and other creatures of darkness. There was no emotion in his eyes. He seemed almost like a stone statue. Guy wasn't sure he liked this new situation. With Balian as the commander of Narbazanes' armies and second only to the Magelord, his own position became perilous. And this new Balian was dangerous. He'd forgotten none of his past, but he had retained none of his so called 'weaknesses'. Guy was at his mercy.

The former king swept a low bow as Balian turned to him. "Guy," he said in a cold flat voice.

"My lord Balian," said Guy, not daring to look up. He liked the old Balian better. At least he could be certain that the old Balian would not have him drawn and quartered.

Balian smiled. It was not a comforting expression. "Good," he said. "I see you have recognized the new hierarchy of this place." With that, he strode out of the room. Guy caught a glimpse of two curved sabres on the other man's belt. Would this new Balian be a better fighter than the old one? He didn't know, and he had no desire to find out. Guy hurried to follow Balian. Narbazanes' orders had been clear. He was now Balian's servant, and unless his master dismissed him, he had to stay by Balian's side. The other man's pace was quick. Soldiers dipped their heads in reverence and fear when they saw him. He gave them no acknowledgement.

The men were practising their moves, with one of the generals calling out numbers. Balian watched them closely. His brown eyes were narrowed as he scrutinized their moves and made note of every inadequacy. Finally, he raised a hand to halt the general. "This is a poor performance," he said. The general was rather taken aback by this. His face paled and he stiffened. Balian took no notice of him, and he dared not protest. "If you think this rabble can defeat the Gondorians and the rest of Middle Earth, then you can think again. You are going to be fodder for their siege engines."

"My lord commander," said the general. "These are the best men in all of Harad." The look that Balian gave him was so derogatory that he remained silent for the rest of the afternoon.

All day, he drilled them, making them repeat move after move until it was perfect. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. Any transgression was swiftly repaid with punishment. He seemingly had no mercy or conscience. The means did not matter; only the ends were important. At the end of the day, he handpicked one hundred soldiers to form a separate force, answerable only to him and Narbazanes.

The Magelord was impressed. The man wasn't simply training an army. He was creating a contingent of men who were professional killers.

* * *

Aragorn looked at his friends as if they had gone mad. They probably had. "You want to go into Mordor, based on the fact that a spinning needle said that Balian is in Mordor?" said the King of Gondor incredulously.

"No, Aragorn, that compass is special," said Legolas, trying to get the others to help him explain. They all remained silent, even Jack. "It points to the thing that you want most, and Imad wants to rescue Balian the most, so I'm certain that Balian is in Mordor."

"Even if he is in Mordor, how would you get him out?" said Faramir. "The Dark Land is vast, and dangerous, even with Sauron gone."

"It's worth a try," said Xerxes, "but we need more of a plan than simply charge in with swords bared and trumpets blaring."

* * *

Narbazanes surveyed his assembled forces. They were in straight lines, and their formations were meticulous. In the space of one week, Balian had turned even the most unruly fighters into decent soldiers. When the army saw the Magelord, they raised their weapons or hit their shields to salute him.

"You have done well, Lord Commander," said Narbazanes to Balian. "I did not expect to be ready so soon."

"It is my duty to serve you, my lord," said Balian, dipping his head. Narbazanes smiled.

"I have something I must show you, Balian," he said. "Come."

The two men rode deep into Mordor. It was a barren wasteland. The hooves of their horses kicked up clouds of red dust. Rocks littered the landscape, sticking up like jagged teeth. They came to a valley from which strange noises issued. It sounded like roaring and snorting. Balian's wariness piqued. He gently pulled on the reins. His horse stopped. The whites of its eyes were showing and it snorted. The animal knew that there was something bad in the valley.

"No, it is not bad, not for you," said Narbazanes, as if he could read Balian's thoughts. He urged his terrified steed onwards. Balian followed. The walls of the valley rose steeply on either side of them. The track was narrow and winding. However, the deeper they went, the more it widened. 

Before them was a large basin, and inside were winged beasts with wicked teeth, chained to stakes which had been driven into the ground. They snorted and strained against their bonds.

"Dragons," said Balian softly.

"No, not dragons," said Narbazanes. "Winged beasts. The steeds of the Nazgul."

"The Nazgul were destroyed," said Balian.

"Indeed. The Nine are no more, but they had more than one beast each. I had one picked out especially for you, Lord Commander." The Magelord dismounted and led Balian over to a particularly feisty animal. It bared its teeth and snarled until Narbazanes put a gloved hand on its scaly neck and murmured a few soothing foreign words. The beast calmed under his touch. Balian slowly approached it. The animal tensed when the other man touched it. Perhaps it was Narbazanes spells, or maybe it was fate, but after its initial reaction, the beast gradually accepted Balian.

"The best commander needs the best steed," said the Magelord. As if in reply, the beast flexed its long sinewy neck and lifted its head to scream out a challenge.

* * *

In the library, Legolas and Paris pored over old maps, studying the geography of Mordor. There were so many places where Balian could be hidden, and many of the old entrances into the Dark Land were now blocked. The elf looked up to where Xerxes was staring out of the window. "Do you know of ways into Mordor?"

"Yes, if Narbazanes has not stationed guards there," said the Haradrim.

"So the plan is for us to create a diversion, somehow, without using the army," said Will. "And while we are distracting them, you sneak in, rescue Balian, somehow rally your father's supporters and overthrow Narbazanes?"

"That might be a little _too _optimistic," said Xerxes dryly. "I plan to get your friend out, and I'll stay and see how I can weaken the Usurper. Defeating Narbazanes is going to take more than just a few days' work."

"Still, creating a diversion without the help of the army is rather difficult," said Will. They understood the King's reluctance to involve his troops. Balian was important, but he was still only one man. Gondor needed her armies to protect her and all her people.

"We have Jack Sparra," said Barbossa with a shrug. "He be more distractin' than any army of thousands." The old pirate did not mean for that to be a compliment.

"It's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, you scraggly-bearded git," muttered Jack.

"Don't forget," said Elizabeth, "while we're distracting the enemy, we somehow still have to patrol the river and the coast."

"How many men have we got in the navy?" asked Imad.

"Five hundred," said Anna Maria. "That's if ya count those who don't sail and probably won't ever sail if I had me way."

"That's fine," said Paris. "We'll take those who can't sail, and Jack, and create a diversion while the sailors patrol the waters." He looked darkly over at where Achilles was standing. "I suppose you will be leading the land operation."

"Yes, I thought so," said the Greek. "Unless you want to do it, Prince?"

"Gentlemen, enough," said Elizabeth sharply. She'd had quite enough of the conflict between Paris and Achilles. They weren't even amusing the way Jack and Barbossa were. If they could at least come up with something witty from time to time, she might've forgiven them. "For goodness' sake, this ridiculous bickering is not helping. The enemy is uniting at our doorstep and you sit here arguing over things long past. Even pirates are better than this."

"Hey!" protested Jack. "Pirates are very decent, thank you very much."

"Decent?" said Legolas. He had a lot of words with which to describe pirates, but 'decent' was not one of them.

"So it's decided then," said Imad. "And if it suits you, Prince Paris and Lord Achilles, I will lead the land operation. If I shave my head and make false tattoos, they will mistake me for their errant prince, from a distance. That is very distracting."

* * *

Narbazanes was in his throne room discussing matters with his new commander. Balian was of the opinion that they were not ready to attack yet. "Our soldiers, while they can fight in pitched battle, are still outnumbered," he said. "Gondorians are heavily armoured. We need to devise tactics and strategies to overcome that, and we need a proper cavalry. Mounted raiding parties no longer suffice."

The Magelord rubbed his chin. "A proper cavalry, you say?" he said. "What do you consider a 'proper' cavalry?"

"We need two types; light cavalry and armoured cavalry—"

A scout entered and interrupted their conversation. The man prostrated himself before the Magelord. "Sire," he said breathlessly. "The Gondorian navy has gained new ships. They really are making a stand."

"How many?" asked Narbazanes.

"Five, at the moment. They took ours, mostly."

The Magelord laughed. "I have an entire fleet of corsairs at my beck and call, and they think they can resist me with five ships crewed by that rabble of prisoners? I think not."

* * *

Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the rail of her new vessel, the _Lady Swan_. Will had insisted on calling it that, and she'd thought it sweet. Jack's ship, the _Sea Turtle_, had remained at port, since the captain was part of the planned diversion. She hoped it would work, and that her First Mate would be able to get behind enemy lines and cause some damage. They needed all the help they could get.

The mist made it hard for her to see anything more than a few yards away, and that made her a bit nervous. It was the first time she'd sailed along the Gondorian coast on her own, and without a proper First Mate. Something was making the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she suppressed a shiver. If she'd been able to see properly, she would've known why she was feeling so anxious.

A fleet of corsairs was sailing up the coast, aiming directly for her ship. Their oars made minimal splashing in the cold briny water. Like a pack of wolves they closed in on their prey. The man in the crow's nest did not see their dark forms until it was too late.

"Oh God," said Elizabeth. She was completely surrounded. Grappling hooks were thrown, biting into the wood of the _Swan_. She pulled out her sword and settled into fighting stance. The corsairs were swarming on board. Blades clashed. Vibrations travelled up the length of her arm as she parried a blow from a particularly bald and tattooed man. She thought she was going to die. Not even the famed Pirate King could withstand such an ambush.

And then, one fine sailing ship burst through the surface of the ocean, followed by another. She recognized the latter immediately. Jack's beloved _Pearl_. But what was it doing here? Jack and Barbossa had both agreed that it had been trapped in a pond on the other side of Middle Earth, and when Jack and Barbossa agreed on something, it was probably true. The corsairs were too shocked by the appearance of these two much larger and finer vessels. They simply gaped. At the helm of the _Pearl_was the unmistakeable figure of Calypso, in her human form. She grinned, revealing blackened teeth.

"I think we have arrived just at the right moment, Captain Assaracus," she said.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the late update. Writer's block and other distractions kept me from finishing this chapter.


	19. Friends and Foes

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anyone that you recognize (that list is getting too long -sheepish grin-). I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**R-Cleberg:** Calypso decided that she wanted another cameo. Who am I to refuse a goddess? Yes, Balian's little predicament is freaky, but fun, lol. Thanks for reviewing.

**Chapter 18: Friends and Foes**

Hector had never seen anything quite like Middle Land or whatever this place was called, but he had no time to admire the scenery just yet. There was a battle to be fought. He felt no mercy for those vagabonds who hadn't dared to take on a woman and her crew honourably. These were worse than pirates. Having been brought up as a prince of a great civilized city, the new captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ couldn't really find any words to describe them, at least, not ones which he would care to utter out loud.

The corsairs knew they'd been outmanoeuvred by these two unearthly ships. Besides, they were not about to put up a stand against vessels which were much larger and could burst out from beneath the surface of the waves. They tried to flee, but most of them were cut off in their escape. Only then did they attempt to fight. The _Dutchman'_s crew, with the help of Elizabeth and her sailors, vanquished them easily enough. For the undead sailors, boarding a ship was simply a matter of materializing on the deck.

It was soon over. The corsairs were now prisoners in a number of brigs. Their ships were tied to the three victorious vessels. They were to be towed back to Minas Tirith. Hector materialized on Elizabeth's ship, with Bootstrap and another sailor behind him. Elizabeth's hands flew to her mouth when she saw the latter. "James?" she whispered. "James Norrington?" She wanted to add "You're dead", but that did not seem like the most appropriate thing to say, seeing as he was standing here before her in his naval uniform, complete with his wig. Instead, she gaped at him.

James smiled. "Yes, Elizabeth, I'm back. I've been granted a boon by Hades and Calypso, thanks to Captain Assaracus, and Mr. Turner, the elder one," he said. "I trust you have been well?"

"If you count narrowly escaping from a hanging 'well' then yes, I have been well," said Elizabeth, who'd regained her voice. She turned to Hector. "Captain Assaracus, once again, I am in your debt. I don't know how I can repay..."

"Please, Lady Turner, do not speak of repayment. Will is my friend, and friends help each other," said Hector. He looked different from the last time Elizabeth had seen him. Instead of the fancy Hellenistic armour, he now wore the baggy clothes of the Barbary corsairs. In an odd way, it suited him better than his princely armour. It made him seem freer.

"I hope you have not forgotten me, Elizabeth Turner," said Calypso, pushing in front of Hector. "'twas I who brought Captain Assaracus here, and freed the _Pearl_ from that tiny little pond. What a waste of a perfectly good ship, to leave it there to rot."

"How could I forget you, Calypso?" said Elizabeth. "I thank you for your benevolence."

"Now, I can't have them saying that I don't look after my followers," said the goddess, giving Elizabeth a grin. "William Turner served me well."

Bootstrap cleared his throat. "Not to interrupt, but what are we to do with all these ships?"

"Take them upriver," said Elizabeth. "No doubt Will will be pleased."

"William?" said Bootstrap, cheering up at once. "He is here too?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth. "And so is Jack. Will is the Admiral of the Royal Navy."

At that, Bootstrap's eyes widened and James arched an eyebrow. Even Calypso was surprised, although, being a goddess, she could hardly show it before mere mortals.

"I know it's odd, but this is not like England," explained Elizabeth. "King Elessar doesn't care that we're pirates. He knows we're loyal to him, and that's enough."

"So, what royal navy is this?" asked James.

"The Gondorian Royal Navy," said Elizabeth proudly. Then she looked thoughtful. "Mind you, the flagship is called the _Salty Wench_."

At that, Bootstrap threw back his head laughed uproariously. "Hah! My boy really does have a lot of pirate in him!"

"Actually, Barbossa thought of it, and Jack agreed that it was a good name," said Elizabeth. There was utter silence.

"_Jack_ and _Barbossa_ agreed on something?" said Hector incredulously. He remembered how they argued about everything that they could think of, from the quality of different alcoholic beverages to the aesthetic aspects of different types of limestone.

"Are you sure we're thinking about the same two men?" said Bootstrap. "It sounds to me as if there's something odd going on."

"Probably," said Elizabeth with a shrug. "They're both naval officers." James snorted. She gave him a look. "We didn't exactly have much of a choice."

"Your choices must really be limited then."

* * *

The last thing Will had expected to see was a whole fleet of ships sailing up the Anduin with the _Lady Swan_ in the lead. Behind her was the very familiar view of the _Flying Dutchman_ alongside Jack's beloved _Pearl_. About a dozen ships of Haradrim make were being towed.

"What's going on?" Will shouted.

"Long story!" Elizabeth shouted back. "To be quick, I'll just say we have otherworldly company!"

As if on cue, Hector appeared on the deck of the _Salty Wench_ with a grin on his face. Will's jaw dropped. He hadn't expected to see his friend for at least ten years. Why was he here? Wasn't he supposed to be doing a job on the other side?

James Norrington followed his captain, and so did Bootstrap. Will blinked a couple of times, trying to determine whether he was hallucinating or whether this was real. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, Calypso's, to be exact, and he knew he wasn't dreaming.

"What on earth is happening?" he whispered.

Calypso released him and began pacing on the deck of his ship. "Perhaps you have not noticed, but there have been many things happening lately. Terrible things. The balance of the world is at stake. Evil is gathering. Soon, the war will be here, and we must all be ready to fight."

All of them looked at the goddess blankly. Why did she have to speak in riddles? Calypso sighed. "You will understand when the time comes," she said. "As a goddess, I am forbidden to reveal the secrets of the deities to mortals."

* * *

Paris could hear the shouts coming from outside. The people of Minas Tirith were very excited about something. He ignored the noise and concentrated on his book; a rare account of the mortal sorcerers, written by a Gondorian who'd travelled to Harad many centuries before. The language was archaic, and difficult to decipher. Some of the words had been blurred with age and the maps were vague.

He gave up when he heard Jack's hollering. The word 'Pearl' could easily be heard. 'The _Black Pearl_ is here?' thought Paris. Had it not been left in a pond in the Shire?

Helen burst through into the library. Her face was flushed with excitement. "Paris, come quickly!" she said. "Hector's here!"

Paris forgot about his book and raced through the corridors down to the wharf, where many ships had docked. There was the _Dutchman_, in all her glory. Hector stood at the helm of his ship, holding Astyanax and pointing out the different parts of the ship to him, while Andromache leaned against her husband in contentment. Astyanax did not seem too interested in the ship. Instead, he was chewing on another animal figure which his father had carved for him. Drool ran down his chin. The little boy was teething.

Aragorn was there also, looking utterly perplexed. He was stunned by this turn of events. All these ships...

"Well, gentlemen," he said to Faramir and his other awed advisors. "We have a real navy, and I think we should name the ships before the officers do."

"I agree with you completely, Sire," said Faramir.

* * *

Xerxes had a lot on his mind. This venture into Harad through Mordor was not going to be an easy one. He was sure he had a lot of reasons for wanting to go behind enemy lines, but there was only one he could think of at the moment.

Sarvenaz. He could still remember the lingering scent of her perfume and the soft touch of her delicate silky hands. Her absence was a thorn in his heart. She was waiting for him; she'd said she would. When he'd left, there had been tears in her eyes, glittering like diamonds in the desert moonlight. He'd promised her that he would return, but it had been six months now, and he hadn't been able to fulfil his oath. What would she think of him? How was she? Was she still alive and safe, or had she fallen into the clutches of the usurper?

He stared out of his window, towards the east. "I'm coming for you, Sarvenaz," the Haradrim prince said softly. "I'll free you."

* * *

He scanned his troops. They stood as straight as their spears; attentive, alert, ready for battle. Even the rabbles of orcs had been drilled into some sort of order. "They are ready to fight," said Balian. Narbazanes had been waiting for these words for a long time.

Despite his utter disdain for the commander, Guy had to be impressed. How could a mere blacksmith possibly know how to tame an army such as this? It was beyond comprehension. Balian had been born into peasantry. Christ, he was half-peasant! And yet, here was proof that he was born to lead.

"Very good," said Narbazanes. "You will lead them into battle against the men of Gondor. Do not fail me, Lord Commander. Osgiliath must be taken. We have already left things for too long. We cannot let the Anduin lie between us and Minas Tirith, do you understand?"

"I will not fail you, my lord," said Balian. His voice was flat and devoid of emotion. Narbazanes looked him in the eye. Most men would've looked down immediately, but Balian did not even flinch.

"And what of your son?" said the Magelord softly. It was a test. He needed to know if he owned Balian completely. Up until now, he'd been willing to put faith in the man because it hadn't really mattered. But now, Balian was to lead the army out of Mordor, and if he wasn't loyal to Narbazanes, he would be able to escape. With all the information that he knew, that would be very dangerous.

At the mention of his beloved child, something flickered across the man's face. For a moment, those brown eyes were filled with anguish and compassion, but his expression quickly became neutral again. "A man must be able to sacrifice all for the sake of his master," he said. "I serve you, my lord."

* * *

Balian's mind was in turmoil He could see what he was doing, but he was powerless to resist. It was as if he'd become a spectator trapped in his own body. Oh, he fought it. He struggled to overcome the spells which Narbazanes and his little witch of a consort had cast over him. When Narbazanes had mentioned Barisian, that surge of love had almost let him succeed, but the Magelord's devilry had been too strong. Balian's own dark side had been too strong.

He hated being used like this, as a weapon against his friends. Death would've been better. 'Will I ever be free?' he wondered as his body mounted his dark steed, even though his mind was reluctant. The dark presence —his new self— was overwhelming his mind. He didn't know how to expel that demon controlling him, save through death. If he could've done it, he would have somehow ended his own life so that Narbazanes would no longer be able to use him as a tool for spreading darkness over Middle Earth. He would rather suffer an eternity in Hell for suicide than betray those whom he held dear. As it was, he didn't even have that choice.

* * *

Paris hadn't felt so happy ever since Hector's death. In fact, he was in such a good mood that he was almost ready to forgive Achilles. Calypso had said that Hector would be allowed to stay in the world of the Living, provided that he was in a ship, or a bucket of seawater.

Squabbling could be heard coming from the captain's quarters of the _Black Pearl_. The words were muffled, but everyone could guess who was arguing and about what.

With the exception of Jack and Barbossa, everyone had gathered in Hector's cabin, which made it a bit cramped, but no one minded, because they were so happy about this victory. Aragorn, being King, had been given the honour of sitting in one of the chairs. Hector was in the other. The rest of them perched on the desk or the bed, or leaned against the wooden walls. Achilles was inspecting Hector's spyglass and peering through the end with the larger lens.

The captain of the _Dutchman_ sighed as his brother and Aragorn related the recent happenings in Middle Earth to him. "Why can't the gods grant Balian some relief?" he said. "He has suffered enough, and that poor child..."

"That's why we're going to get him back," said Imad.

"We're not going to let Barisian become an orphan," said Legolas. "Not while we have breath left in our bodies."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Hector.

Aragorn smiled tiredly. The lines around his eyes and his mouth seemed to have deepened over the past few weeks. "I was wondering when you would ask, Prince Hector," he said. "I was thinking that perhaps you could patrol the coast, if that is not too much to ask."

"I will do anything for my friends," said Hector, "and the friend of my friends is my friend too."

"If I may, your majesty," said James. "You have acquired a number of new ships, but you do not seem to have the men required to captain them."

"You can say that again, James Norrington," said Faramir. He looked the other man up and down. "Are you volunteering? I've heard many things about you. Most of them were good."

"Faramir," said Will. "Commo—I mean, James would make a much better Admiral than me."

"You've done a good job, Will," said Aragorn. "I'm not about to dismiss you. However, I would like you to join our navy, if that is what you want...may I call you James?"

"Of course, Sire," said James, bowing to Aragorn. This was no minor feat in such a cramped space. "I will be very glad to serve you. It is good to be honourable again."

At that moment, Ragetti and Pintel rushed in, looking rather excited. "Turner...I mean, Will...I mean, Admiral!" said Pintel. He looked very pleased about something. "We named two of the new ships!"

"Oh dear Valar," muttered Faramir under his breath.

"You'll like it, Lord Faraway," said Ragetti, grinning. His wooden eye was looking in a different direction to his real eye, making him look very odd. "It's po-e-tic."

"Pirates have their own version of Shakespeare?" Norrington muttered to Will as they traipsed out to examine Ragetti and Pintel's handiwork.

"It's 'poetry', which really doesn't imply Shakespeare at all," said Will.

In the torchlight, they could make out some crudely painted words. The paint was still wet. On the side of one ship was '_Booty Looter_' and on another, '_Kween's Rum_'. Will groaned out loud. They hadn't even managed to get the spelling right. He clapped his hand to his eyes, not wanting to see anymore ships' names.

"Zeus' thunderbolts!" said Achilles. "A ship is a ship, not rum!"

"Couldn't you at least have spelled 'queen' correctly?" said Elizabeth, grimacing.

"We're pirates, Cap'n Swann," said Ragetti defensively. "That means we don't know no spellin'. I think we's done a pretty good job."

"An' the _Booty Looter_ has a rhymin' name, sorta," said Pintel.

Legolas rolled his eyes, at the same time, wishing Balian was here to enjoy the ridiculous situation. The blacksmith would've been horrified. "So our navy has ships called the _Salty Wench_, the _Sea Turtle_, the _Cursed Monkey_, the _Drunken Sparrow_, the _Looty Boot—_ I mean, the _Booty Looter_, and the _**Kween**__'s Rum_." As the elf listed the names, he counted them off on his fingers to emphasize his point. "We are really going to be the laughing stock of Middle Earth."

"You forgot the _Lady Swan_," Paris pointed out. Will scowled at him.

"That one's fine," said Legolas. "Swans are beautiful."

"All right," said Aragorn. "Here's the deal. You've named these two, and I'm not changing the names, but we get to name the other ships."

"And what are you going to name them, Sire?" said Faramir.

"One of them will be called the _Evenstar_, of course," said Aragorn. "Your turn, Faramir."

"The _Shieldmaiden_," said the Steward promptly. They were so engrossed in naming ships that they didn't notice the silence which now dominated the _Black Pearl_. Then a peal of laughter broke out, followed by a lot of mock gagging.

"Why are you all naming your ships after your wives?" asked Jack. "That's just boring. Just as well Nanny isn't here, or we'll have ships called the _Queen of Jerusalem_ or the _Sibylla_ or something just as sickening."

"Can I suggest one?" said Achilles.

"If it's not ridiculous, then yes," said Legolas.

"The _Wooden Horse_," said Achilles, crossing his arms and grinning.

"No!" said twelve voices in unison.

* * *

Imad tried his best to stop from fidgeting as Andromache painted imitations of Xerxes' tattoos on his face. 'The things I do for my friends,' he thought. Well, one of his friends. His shaven head looked unfamiliar and odd. He could hardly recognize himself when he looked into the mirror. In fact, it was quite easy to mistake him for the Haradrim prince. They both had the same skin tone, similar flared nostrils and deeply set eyes.

In a corner of the room, Jack, Legolas, Paris, Achilles and Xerxes were gathered in a group, discussing their plan of action. "I don't like this," said Jack, scratching his head. "You want us to shout challenges to those people in Horror Land. What if they do come out?"

"Then you run," said Xerxes simply. "I know this is risky, but it's the only way I can sneak past Narbazanes' defences. Then I can gather my father's old followers and rescue your friend. If all goes well, we might even be able to overthrow the usurper."

"I don't fancy gambling with such great odds," grumbled Jack.

"It's the only way," said Paris. "Unless you have a better idea, Captain Sparrow?"

Jack flashed the younger Trojan prince a grin. "Of course! We can always demand parlay, savvy?"

"What's 'parlay'?" asked Xerxes.

"Negotiations," explained Legolas. "And no, Jack, not 'savvy'."

"So we go along with my plan," said Xerxes. He looked at each and every one of them, his gaze lingering on Jack. "Savvy?" he added.

* * *

Pippin was going out into the gardens to smoke when he saw a strange sight. Jack was pacing on the grass, clutching his hat and muttering to himself. The pirate seemed rather concerned about something, and his dark expression was so uncharacteristic of him that the hobbit was immediately concerned.

"What's wrong, Jack?" he asked.

"Nuthin'," said the pirate. "I'm gonna be used as bait to lure that Nasty-zanes out of Horror Land, so I'm feelin' very good 'bout meself, savvy?"

"You're Captain Jack Sparrow, nothing can go wrong, eh?" said Pippin. That did not seem to comfort Jack.

"You don't know how close I came to becoming dinner, or rather, luncheon," he said. Pippin could sympathize. He'd almost become an orc's late-night snack on one occasion. There was one thing, however, that he knew would make Jack feel better. The hobbit pulled out his spare pipe from his coat pocket and then handed it to the pirate.

"What's this?" said Jack, turning it over in his hands. The wood was smooth, and the pipe itself was beautifully carved. The pirate had always chewed his tobacco instead of smoking it.

"It's my spare pipe, in case I lose my other one," explained Pippin. He handed Jack his pouch of pipeweed. "This is Old Toby, the finest pipeweed in the South Farthing. Hobbits might be small, but we grow the best pipeweed in the world."

Jack took out a pinch of the dried plant material and sniffed it. It smelled good; better than his chewing tobacco at any rate. Copying Pippin's actions, he began filling the bowl of his pipe with the pipeweed, pressing it in with his thumb. Pippin got out his tinderbox and lit both their pipes. Jack sucked in a mouthful of smoke then blew it out, feeling rather like a rich aristocrat. Soon, they were joined by Merry, bringing lunch. Gimli sat down soon after with his pipe. There was so much smoke around them that an unwary observer might have thought that they were lighting a signal fire. The hobbits laughed as Jack told them about all his misadventures, and re-enacted them with hugely exaggerated movements.

As Jack took in another draught of that fragrant smoke, he heard children's voices. Barbossa then came into his line of sight. The old pirate was making a braying noise, like a donkey, and on his shoulders was little Barisian. Willie was laughing and running ahead while Jack the monkey perched on his head. Jack was so shocked that he swallowed the smoke in his mouth. That did not feel so good. Gimli thumped him heartily on the back as he retched and choked.

Maybe he should've stuck to chewing tobacco.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Legolas' keen ears caught the sound of a raised alarm. Someone was racing through the corridors of the Citadel, shouting for Aragorn. The elf opened the door of his chamber. "What is the matter?" he called.

"Osgiliath...attack..." gasped the man. "Find...King..."

That was enough for Legolas. He overtook the exhausted messenger and burst into Aragorn's chamber without even bothering to knock. Aragorn bolted up and leapt out of bed, dagger in hand, ready to defend himself and his queen against anyone who might have wanted to harm them.

"Estel, it's me," said Legolas in elvish.

"Legolas?" said Aragorn, lowering his dagger. "What's going on?"

"Osgiliath is under attack," said the elf. He raced to the window and opened the curtains. His elven vision could make out soldiers surrounding the city, like vultures surrounding a dying beast. How many there were, he didn't know. It was too far away.

"Send out reinforcements!" said Aragorn. "I want the navy and the army there by sun up tomorrow. I will lead them myself."

"No, Aragorn," said Legolas. "It is too dangerous. It could be a trap. I will lead them."

"Are you certain, mellon-nin?" said the king of Gondor.

"There is not enough time to ponder it," said the elf. "I must prepare." With that, he left the King's chambers.

* * *

The missiles from the catapults pounded the walls of Osgiliath without mercy. The Gondorians were retaliating, but the Lord Commander had prepared well. Many of the defenders' war machines had been destroyed by his Greek Fire. Sections of the wall collapsed, crushing the attackers below. Casualties were high, but he didn't let anyone retreat. What was death compared to victory and conquest?

Trapped in his own body, and unable to control what he was doing, Balian despaired. With Osgiliath under attack, Aragorn would surely send an army out to defend the city, and possibly even lead it himself. Were his hands destined to be stained with the blood of friends whom he saw as brothers?

Another stone hit one of Osgiliath's towers, causing it to crumble. Rocks and debris showered down on the soldiers besieging the city. They raised their shields to protect themselves. One man who tried to turn back found himself impaled by one of Balian's long curved sabres. The others, too frightened to disobey this cold cruel commander, surged forward again. At least they knew those who survived the siege would live to fight other battles.

A horn sounded in the distance. The alarm swept through Balian's troops.

Gondor had come, bearing steel.

* * *

**A/N:** Everything comes out into the light the next chapter, well, almost everything. I hoped everyone enjoyed this. It was interesting to write because it's nothing like my first draft.


	20. God, Why Me?

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 19: God, Why Me? **

The screams of men and the dull thuds of stone hitting stone made Legolas' heart quicken. He dug his heels into his horse's flanks, urging it forward. Behind him, Gimli was clinging on for dear life. Usually, the elf would've teased the dwarf endlessly about his fear of large, potentially volatile herbivores, but today, he'd been robbed of his sense of humour. Osgiliath was being bombarded on all sides. The Haradrim surrounded the city, scurrying up siege ladders like ants intent on swarming their prey and overwhelming them with sheer numbers.

When the Haradrim saw the Gondorian reinforcements, some of them quickly turned to form ranks, getting ready to do battle on two fronts. This they did without the use of words. Every man knew his place in the formation. Behind the elf, Gimli gave a whistle. "These are very well-trained soldiers," said the dwarf. "I wish our commanders were just as effective."

Legolas was about to order his archers to fire a volley of arrows when the Haradrim parted ranks to let a rider on a black horse through. The elf's eyes widened. "Mahal's beard!" cried Gimli from behind. "'tis the laddie!"

"Balian?" said Legolas. "What are you doing here? I thought—" He didn't get to finish his sentence, for Balian raised a gauntleted hand and signalled to his men to charge. They did so, and without any hesitation at all. The Gondorian archers let go of their arrows. Some of them hit fleshy targets. Most of them ended up piercing the ground or bouncing harmlessly off the raised shields of the Haradrim. They charged on.

Sword clashed against shield as the two armies met. Blades cleaved valleys in flesh, creating rivers of blood. A red metallic mist filled the air. Men cried out, both in fury and in pain. Horses screamed as they crashed into each other and flipped onto their backs, or were cut down mercilessly along with their riders. In the midst of it all was Balian. His face and hands were stained with blood; Gondorian blood. His flashing blades cut down any who dared to come up against him. For those who knew him, it was incomprehensible. Legolas could hardly believe that this was the same man who'd looked after the orphans in Rohan.

The elf urged his horse into a gallop, charging in to stop the man on his rampage of death. Gimli, not being the best of horsemen, lost his grip and fell. The stout dwarf picked himself up off the ground. "Don't worry about me!" he shouted to Legolas as he swung his axe at one fool who thought that small prey would be easy prey. "You go get the laddie!"

Seeing that his dwarven friend was managing fine, and had started counting, Legolas turned his attention back to his other friend. "Balian!" he called. "Stop this madness!"

The man saw him, and the elf was greeted by the man's two curved sabres. He was unnaturally quick. Legolas hadn't remembered Balian fighting like this before. It was a style more suited to the fiery Achilles. He felt his bones ring as he parried a blow. The horses were stepping rapidly, trying to avoid entangling themselves in one another's legs. It would do them no good if they fell. Legolas horse snorted, clearly wanting to run. The whites of his eyes were showing.

Legolas caught sight of Balian's face. The man's brown eyes were cold and hard, devoid of the mercy and compassion which had been characteristic of the blacksmith he'd befriended. The emotionless expression almost sent an involuntary shiver up his spine. What in Middle Earth was going on?

"Balian, what's happened to you?" he demanded as he defended himself from the crazed man. "I'm your friend. Don't you remember?"

That seemed to trigger something in Balian. For a moment, his eyes softened, and he was recognizable again. "Legolas..." he said. "No, get away from here!" As he spoke, the hardness came back, and he resumed his attack with more furious fervour than before.

Balian could feel the frightful strength in his limbs, and he had no way to control it. He could only watch on as _he_ attacked Legolas. The man fought to regain control of his body, trying to summon up better memories to drive out the dark presence. He was filled with desperation. This internal struggle seemed to slow down his movements as the dark presence's attention was diverted. After what seemed like a very long time, his struggle was rewarded. All of a sudden, he was in control again, even though he knew he didn't have much time. His hold was slippery at the very best. The dark presence was furious that it had been displaced. "Free me!" he pleaded. "The blade..."

"What?" said Legolas, hoping he'd misunderstood. Was Balian asking for death? Eru, he couldn't deliver it to him. He would rather die than see the blood of a friend staining his hands.

Balian had no time to elaborate. The dark presence overwhelmed him again. He felt himself being pushed backwards. He could see that Osgiliath was lost. The Haradrim force which he was leading was too strong. 'Is this a test, God?' he demanded. If it was, then he had no doubt that he was failing miserably. He wanted to weep, to cry out in despair. Instead, all he could do was be an observer as his other self began attacking Legolas again.

"Legolas!" came Gimli's unmistakeable shout. "They're flanking us! What orders?"

The elf broke off from his sparring with Balian. "Retreat!" he shouted. "Get back to Minas Tirith!"

"I'll bring up the rear!" shouted Beregond. "Elites! To the rear with me!"

The Gondorian Elite Guard followed their captain, ready to battle to the death so that their comrades might have a chance to live. They formed a wall of silver armour, a buffer against the dark forces from the east. Beregond was at the very centre, directly opposite Balian. They two men fixed their gazes on each other. Neither of them was going to back down.

Beregond gripped the hilt of his sword tightly in his gloved hands. They'd sworn an oath to protect Gondor to the very end. "My brothers!" he shouted to his men. "Now is the hour to fulfil our oaths! Let it not be said in the years to come that our courage broke in Gondor's hour of need!"

The cry was raised. "For Gondor!" The voices of the men seemed the shake the earth, and indeed, if the deities of Middle Earth could hear them, they would be moved by the selfless courage which was displayed that day in the face of overwhelming adversity and death. Each man was ready to spill his blood, and by those rivers of red, protect the nation which had nurtured him.

The hooves of the Haradrim horses thundered towards them. Hard remorseless metal blades were brandished. The Gondorians dug their spurs into their horses' sides. They moved as one. Horses tumbled and fell over one another as the two forces clashed, one considerably smaller than the other. Beregond and his men were totally encircled. The captain did not even harbour the foolish dream of returning alive to Minas Tirith. Without a moment's hesitation, he rode out to meet the enraged commander of the Haradrim. Sparks flew as their blades clashed. Beregond was shocked by the strength behind his enemy's blow. He knew he could not win, but it was all he could do to draw this out for as long as possible so that his comrades might escape.

Legolas spared a glance backwards. Amidst the clouds of dust raised up by the trampling hooves of the horses, he saw Balian and Beregond fighting. With one circular motion, Balian disarmed the Gondorian. Blood spurted out as the captain's throat was slashed. Everything seemed to move slowly. Beregond fell from his horse's back. His body was lost in the mess of hooves and men. The elf closed his eyes, as he sent a swift prayer up to the Valar. "Be at peace, son of Gondor," he whispered, inadvertently repeating the words which Aragorn had spoken to Boromir all those years ago. The captain of Gondor's sacrifice was worthy to be put in the greatest of annals. Legolas vowed that he would never forget it. 'Balian, my friend,' he thought. 'What have they done to you? What have _you_ done?'

The madness of battle and the lust of blood were gone from him now. His dark presence anger finally relented, and all of a sudden, Balian found that he was back in control. He dropped his weapons and stared down at his bloodstained hands, and the bodies littered at his feet. Shock was evident in his face. He looked at his hands as if they were alien objects which did not belong to him. He didn't want this to be real. 'This has to be just a bad dream,' he told himself. 'I will wake up, and everything will be fine...' But he knew that it wasn't to be. Beregond was dead by his 

hand. He'd killed comrades, and good men. Deep down inside, he knew that there was no undoing what he had done. Could he possibly go back now? He was a traitor, a murderer.

Balian clenched his bloody hands into fists by his sides. Throwing back his head, he cried out to the sky. All his frustration and sorrow was put into that one cry, demanding God to give a reason for all the unfairness in life. He fell onto his knees. One tear ran down his cheek, creating a pale track in his mask of blood and dust. "There will be retribution," he said in a soft hoarse voice. He could only hope that it came soon. The words were meant for himself, but all his men could hear it. They could feel his remorse, and even those who feared and hated him were moved to pity.

Except Guy. He could see that the old Balian was returning, and gaining strength. Narbazanes had given Guy strict orders to make sure that Balian remained his Lord Commander. The Magelord and his lovely consort would have to work on him a bit more. The Perfect Knight really was a very stubborn man. Guy came up behind the unsuspecting man, and then hit his head hard with the hilt of his sword.

Sharp pain lanced through Balian's head, and then he fell into dark oblivion.

He embraced it.

* * *

Aragorn could see his forces returning, and he knew that Osgiliath was lost. He could only hold onto the hope that his friends were not. He was very relieved when he saw the familiar sight of Legolas riding with Gimli behind him. The king embraced his friends. "Thank the Valar," he said.

"I've failed you," said the elf softly.

"Don't say that, Legolas," said Aragorn. "You could not have stopped it. They are too strong."

"Beregond stayed behind to shield our escape."

The King closed his eyes, and then he nodded. "I wouldn't have expected any less of him. He is a true soldier."

"He fell," said Legolas. "By Balian's hand."

Aragorn stiffened and whipped around to gaze at his elven friend. "_Balian_?" he demanded incredulously. "That's impossible! It doesn't make any sense..."

"It's true, laddie," said Gimli gruffly, but it was not hard to tell that the dwarf was trying to mask his sorrow. "He's changed."

"I'd rather believe that the Mountain of Caradhras has moved itself to the east of Mordor than the idea that Balian has changed," insisted the king. "He would never betray us."

"Not willingly," said Xerxes quietly behind the king. "As I've said, Narbazanes has his ways."

"Then he is truly lost?" said Imad. "Is there no hope left?"

The Haradrim shook his head. "Not that I know of. Once Narbazanes takes hold of something, he never lets go."

Aragorn set his jaw. "I refuse to believe that," he said quietly. "There must be a way. We just don't know it."

Legolas cleared his throat. "When I was fighting with him, he did say something..." he began.

"Come on, laddie, speak up!" said Gimli. "What did he say?"

"He...he asked me to free him. And then he mentioned something about a blade."

As soon as the words left Legolas' lips, Imad paled. "The prophecy..." he whispered.

"What prophecy?" said Faramir.

"While we were travelling in Rohan, just before that village was attacked by those Gondorians, Cassandra prophesized something," said Imad.

"What did she say?" said Xerxes.

"I don't remember entirely, but she mentioned freeing someone by the sword and the outpouring of blood," said the Arab. "No one knew what she was talking about at that time, but now I think I know. She was talking about Balian. He was there too." Imad closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Ah, Balian, my rash young Frankish friend, what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

* * *

When Balian felt his eyes open, he saw that he was once again chained up in a dark decrepit chamber in Mordor. The rusted metal manacles chafed his wrists. His head throbbed. Damn Guy and his hard sword hilt. As his eyes adjusted, he could see a dark figure in the room with him. There was a fire burning.

The figure turned, and he recognized Sarvenaz. He wished he could do something, but once again, the dark presence had resumed dominance, and this time it was not going to let go of control so easily. Sarvenaz smiled at him. In her hands were two glass orbs full of swirling vapours. 'Oh God,' thought Balian. Could he take any more?

Apparently, the Magelord's consort was not too interested in that question. She threw the glass orbs into the fire, and then quickly left the room, locking the door behind her.

Balian retched and choked as the room filled with smoke and those unnatural vapours. The dark presence could not stop his natural bodily instincts. His eyes watered. Colours swirled before his eyes. As the dark presence gained strength through those vapours, he felt himself growing weaker.

'God,' he thought. 'Why me?'

There was no answer, at least, none that he could detect.

* * *

Minalcar could not stop himself from shaking as he prostrated himself before Narbazanes. After his failed attempt to take Ithilien, he'd lived in fear of retribution from the Magelord.

"I have decided to give you another chance, Minalcar of Gondor," said Narbazanes. In his hand was a vial. He played with it incessantly. "I want you to go into Minas Tirith."

"Minas Tirith, milord?" said Minalcar. "For what?"

"Make sure Elessar consumes this," said the Magelord, handing the vial to Minalcar. "With him gone, Gondor will be disunited, leaderless. Do not fail me again, Minalcar. I do not suffer fools gladly."

* * *

To say that Andromache was surprised when she found Legolas watching Barisian play would've been an understatement. The elf did love the child, but he tended to view babies with more distance. And that grim expression on his face sent a shiver down her spine.

"Legolas?" she said. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

The elf pressed his lips together and nodded. "His mind has been overthrown," he said softly.

"Whose mind?" said Andromache. "Legolas, please, I do not understand you."

"Balian," said the elf simply. "I saw him at Osgiliath."

"Papa?" said Barisian suddenly when he recognized his father's name. "Where?" His questions went ignored as Legolas relayed his news.

"Oh no," said the woman softly, gathering Barisian into her arms and hugging the boy. Barisian squirmed and struggled to be free. He didn't understand what the adults were talking about. He wanted his father; that was all.

"Want Papa!" he insisted. The little boy began to cry. Why wasn't Balian back? He'd said he would come back. Didn't he how much he missed him? Didn't his papa want him anymore?

Andromache's cuddles could do nothing to stop Barisian's wailing. She didn't blame him. He needed his father. In the short time that they'd known each other, Balian had forged a bond with his son which was stronger than the walls of Minas Tirith. He had always been there for his little boy, and now, all of a sudden, it seemed that he was never going to return. Would the love which Balian had for his son transcend death? The situation which he was in would surely be worse than death.

For Barisian, it hardly mattered. What the boy needed was his father's physical presence. Legolas knew it. As an elfling, he'd been very dependent on his parents and his brothers. He'd missed them terribly when they'd gone off for only a day. The elf felt guilt, as if there had been something which he could've done to save the boy's father. He knew he was being too hard on himself, but it was part of his nature. He got up and left. There must be something which they could do — something which did not involve spilling blood.

Barisian's cries gradually quietened down. Exhausted, he fell asleep in Andromache's arms. She gently wiped the tears from his soft cheek and smoothed his curls. 'Balian, see your son now,' she thought. 'He needs you.'

* * *

The corridors were dark. Almost all the servants had retired for the night. The flame of Faramir's candle cast flickering shadows on the walls. The Steward had a pile of documents under one arm. During times of war, there was so much to deal with.

Something rather too solid to be a shadow flitted past the corner of his eye. Faramir whipped around. "Who's there?" he said. There was no answer. Now fully suspicious, he set down his pile of paper by the wall and went to investigate. His ranger's instincts told him that something was wrong; he was not just hallucinating due to fatigue. Years spent in the wild had honed his senses. He heard a scuffle. It came in the direction of the royal couple's private quarters.

During usual circumstances, no one except the king's private staff were allowed inside —unless it happened to be Legolas or Gimli; then it didn't matter. Faramir was sure that whoever it was, it was not Legolas or Gimli, and he had the distinct uneasy feeling that the king was in danger.

He was right. Faramir arrived before the king's door to find someone opening it and slipping out. Whoever it was, it was neither Aragorn nor Arwen. "Intruder!" shouted the Steward. "To arms!" At the sound of his voice, the intruder gave a start, and then he darted back inside the king's chamber, with Faramir directly behind him. In his haste, the Steward dropped his candle, and they were plunged into darkness.

Unfortunately for the intruder, the king was never far from a weapon, and the queen was not the helpless female which she resembled. The only light came from the faint sliver of moon which hung in the black night sky.

Cold metal blades flashed in the dim light. No one could see what was going on. There was a lot of cursing. Aragorn threw in a few choice words which he'd picked up from his new navy. Considering that in the dark, Faramir and Aragorn looked rather similar, the intruder mistook the Steward for the king and attacked him with the ferocity of a cornered warg.

Faramir cried out when he felt his attacker's blade slash his side. Outside, they could hear the thundering steps of the royal guards. Not for the first time, the Steward wished that Beregond was 

still with them. The new captain was not half as efficient. Maybe he should have appointed someone else. 'Like Achilles,' came an unbidden thought to his mind.

As if on cue, the door burst open. Achilles stood there, basked in the golden light of the torches held by the guards. The others were behind him. Legolas was meticulous as always. Gimli was a bit dishevelled from sleep. Jack clutched an empty rum bottle, and Will was in a state of undress. Of Paris there was no sign.

The intruder then realized that he'd been attacking the wrong man, but it was too late. Aragorn struck him on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. The man crumpled to the ground.

"It's Minalcar," said Legolas. The elf's eyes glittered coldly like the jewels that they resembled.

"Your majesty," said Achilles. "Are you hurt?"

"I am unharmed," said Aragorn. "Faramir, on the other hand..."

"I am fine, Sire," insisted the Steward, although he looked anything but fine. He was clutching his side, but blood trickled from between his fingers. His face was pale.

"You are most definitely _not_ fine, my lord Steward," said the king, ripping up bed linen to use as temporary bandages. The unconscious would've-been murderer was dragged off to be thrown into the dungeons. Once he woke, he would be questioned. Legolas wanted to be there to witness it. That traitor had offended him one time too many.

"There are more important things to tend to, Sire," said Faramir through gritted teeth. "I found him sneaking _out_ of your room, and yet he has not harmed you. I think he had another purpose in here."

"If he wanted to kill 'Arry, then why didn't he just do it, wiv a knife?" said Jack.

"Some people are more subtle than you are, Captain Sparrow," said Faramir as Aragorn finished binding his wound with the shredded bedding.

"Do you think searching him would reveal some answers?" asked Will.

"Can I keep anything that I want?" asked Jack. "I mean, after you've finished searchin' of course."

"Do _you_ want to do the searching, Jack?" said Aragorn, knowing that the pirate would be more than thorough.

"'Twould be my pleasure, your nibs," said the pirate with a fancy bow.

* * *

Jack hummed tunelessly to himself as he searched through the unfortunate prisoner's effects. He'd had the man stripped of everything, even his small clothes. After all his experiences, Jack had found out that unlike Barbossa, he wasn't too partial to searching dead people (because sometimes they weren't that dead at all, and had the nasty tendency to come back to life when you least expected it), but he did like to plunder and salvage when the original owners were not there. It saved a lot of trouble, and one didn't have to worry about being interrupted.

On the stone floor of the prison corridor, there already two piles. One was the pile which Jack wanted to keep—there was a small pretty dagger there which would make a nice late birthday present for the Whelplet— and the other was the pile which Barbossa could have for all he cared.

The pirate's hand reached into one of the man's pockets, and closed around something hard and small. It was a pale green glass bottle, with a cork. Inside was a transparent liquid which looked like water. Jack uncorked it and sniffed it. It smelled like water too, as in it had no scent. 'Stupid blighter,' he thought. 'Those few drops would save nobody.' Carelessly, he threw the bottle over his shoulder onto the second pile. However, since he wasn't looking, he missed the little hill of junk. The bottle shattered on the floor, and the stones began to sizzle.

The pirate whipped around at the sound, just in time to see the floor smoking and the stones being dissolved by that mysterious liquid, which he could now safely say was not water. "By all the stinkin' filth of the Locker!" he said, jumping to his feet and racing off. He needed to tell somebody.

Preferably not Barbossa.

* * *

Anna-Maria was outside the Steward's sickroom, trying to assure his distraught wife that he was going to be fine, when Jack crashed into her. They both tumbled to the ground, with Anna-Maria at the bottom. "Ow!" she cried. "Geroff me, Jack, you moron!"

"It's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow," Jack panted indignantly. "I assure you, I have never been a moron. Now, to matters of lesser importance, I need to find 'Arry. I found poison in the captive's pocket. It melted the stones."

Anna-Maria swore and pushed Jack off her. Already, Éowyn had barged into Faramir's sickroom to fetch the king. It was a good excuse to go in and be with her husband. With Aragorn preoccupied, there would be no one to chase her out.

* * *

**A/N: **Things starting to get tense, as they have been for the past couple of chapters. (inserts grin). I haven't forgotten Xerxes' idea of infiltrating the enemy; just got a bit sidetracked, that's all. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed the action/angst in this chapter.


	21. Treachery of Love

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that you recognize, no, not even the names of my OC's (I do own the OC's themselves, even though I would just love to strangle some of them). I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 20: Treachery of Love**

It was an odd sight. The king and his advisers stood in the corridor of the dungeons, staring at a patch of floor. At first glance, there was nothing interesting to be seen, but upon closer inspection, one could see the depression where something had eaten away at the stone. Legolas almost shivered. It had been too close. If not for Faramir wandering around in the palace later than he ought to have been, then Aragorn could very well be dead. What would happen to Gondor then?

"Bring out the prisoner and take him to the interrogation room," said the king. "There are questions for him to answer."

* * *

Narbazanes frowned as he stared into his seeing stone. There was something wrong. Yes, he was seeing the ships of that ragtag bunch of sailors labelled the Gondorian navy, but he instinctively knew that he wasn't seeing everything that he ought to be seeing. Something, or someone, was blocking the power of the palantir. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and he didn't like that. He passed his hands over the smooth crystal sphere again, concentrating his power for that single purpose. For a moment, the mists parted, and he caught a glimpse of a magnificent vessel, and Middle Earth had not seen anything like it in all the years of its history. Before he could make out any detail, the mists of the palantir veiled the ship again. When the mists parted, it was gone.

This only served to heighten his suspicions. He summoned Safar. "Send word out to the corsairs. Go up the coast, and up the Anduin. I don't want to hear of the Gondorian navy again," he said.

The eunuch bowed to the Magelord, not daring to ask why he was ordering such a sudden offensive. His master's moods were unpredictable, and Safar, being a wise being, had no desire to be on the receiving ends of them.

* * *

Minalcar stared stonily at his interrogators. He knew what happened to those who tried to reveal Narbazanes' secrets. That was a fate he would not risk. What could the Gondorian king do to him that was worse than that?

Aragorn sighed and went outside, motioning for Legolas, his co-interrogator, to follow him. "It's useless," he said. "The man is never going to tell us anything."

"You're too kind, Aragorn," said Legolas. "Try to think like the enemy. What would Narbazanes do to get what he wants?"

"I _don't_ want to think like him," said the king bluntly. "Perhaps it is time to revert to our original plan."

"Dear Valar, are we so desperate as to rely on Jack Sparrow and Xerxes?" said Legolas. "Well, and Imad. I don't mind the other two, but Captain Sparrow as the saviour of Middle Earth is making me feel uncomfortable."

"You have to admit he would be very distracting though," said Aragorn, "and he is only the diversion. I can only hope that Xerxes' plan works."

* * *

Sarvenaz watched the unconscious Lord Commander, sagging against the chains which held him up. Her husband was occupied with one of his other wives, and probably would not emerge until the next morning. She couldn't sleep, and there was nothing to occupy her attention, not really. 

Her eyes roamed over Balian's naked form, taking in the sight of scarred skin and hard muscle. How beautiful he was.

With silent steps, she approached him, until she could hear his shallow breathing. Driven by impulse, she ran her hand over his chest, enjoying the feel of firm warm flesh beneath her fingers. He mumbled something and moved at her touch. She stroked his skin, and then reached up to touch his face, tracing the red puckered scar running down the side with one long fingernail.

His eyes opened, and the first thing he saw was her. His dark eyes were cold, emotionless. Balian of Ibelin was no more. Instead, Lord Balian, Commander of Harad's armies, was looking at her. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" she asked him, her voice husky with desire.

"No," he said. His voice was as cold as the metal which chained him. Sarvenaz pulled out the keys from the folds of her robes and released Balian from his chains. He rubbed his wrists once they were free. There were red marks on them from the chafing of the manacles. The king's wife regarded him with sultry eyes, and then she cupped his face and turned him towards her.

"Your blood is hot, but your soul is like ice," she said. "Fire and ice; I like extremities." She stretched up and caressed his neck with her lips, delighting in the salty masculine taste of his sweat. "And, I believe I shall like you very much, Lord Commander."

Balian pushed past her, all the while remaining silent. "You reject me?" said Sarvenaz angrily. "How dare you! I am offering you a gift, and you dare to reject me?"

"I will not betray the master," said Balian. "Nor should you."

* * *

From his vantage point in the crow's nest, Marty could see everything very clearly. This usually wasn't the case, due to his diminutive stature, so he really quite enjoyed being in the crow's nest. He put the spyglass to his eye, looking in every direction. Not far behind them was the _Black Pearl_, with her crew trying to keep her as slow as possible so that she would not crash into the much slower and aptly named _Sea Turtle_.

At the helm was Gibbs, since Jack was preparing for the diversion, and had drunken too much rum in order to try and calm his nerves. Drunken manoeuvres were very well when one was trying to escape from the East India Trading Company, but they didn't work for patrolling the coast.

Somewhere further down was Anna-Maria and her ship, the _Drunken Sparrow_. Occasionally, they would hear snatches of her shouts on the breeze. She was in a bad mood. The fiery little woman would rather die than admit it, but she was worried about Jack. The diversion sounded dangerous. What if they shot him? With arrows? What if his luck ran out and he was not able to dodge them? Or worse, what if they decided to take the bait and attack?

"Pop— I mean, Cap'n!" said Pintel. Anna-Maria had threatened to do terrible things to him the last time he'd called her 'poppet'. He wasn't about to risk anything. "There's ships up ahead! Lots of 'em!"

"What colours?" said Anna-Maria, snapping back into focus. 'Stop bein' a fool,' she told herself sternly. 'He's Captain Jack Sparrow. He can take care of himself.'

Pintel shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "I ain't got no spyglass." Anna-Maria rolled her eyes. Of all people, why did she have to be saddled with the worst First Mate? At the moment, she would've preferred having Willie Turner as her First Mate. That boy was sharp, like his parents...well, maybe more like Elizabeth than Will, with a good dash of Barbossa added.

It didn't take much to tell that the fleet of ships approaching them were not friendly. For one, they were clearly the enemy's ships, for they flew no colours. "Signal to the _Pearl_!" said Anna-Maria, "and then get out of the way! She needs to fire on 'em before they reach us!" The enemy ships had catapults secured to their prows. If they got within firing range, even the _Pearl_ might not be able to deal with them. There were so many.

There was the boom of cannons as Barbossa ordered his crew to fire on the enemy vessels. Cannon balls landed on both the ships and the water, sending up sprays of surf. Wood splinters flew. The enemy retaliated. One of their catapult missiles hit the stern of the _Sparrow_. There was a loud crack. The ship lurched, sending some of Anna-Maria's men over board. "Damnit all!" she yelled over the din of battle. "Fire back, ya bilge rats! That catapult isn't there fer decoratin' the ship!"

And then, without warning, clouds gathered in the sky, covering that patch of sea in shadow. The water became choppy. Over the howling of the wind and the crashing of the waves, an unearthly voice could be heard.

"Maelstrom," said Anna-Maria quietly to herself, remembering the infamous maelstrom battle in which her closest acquaintances had been the main players. She wasn't sure she could sail well enough to get out of this alive. Where was Jack when you needed him?

* * *

Imad was feeling rather self-conscious as he rode out at the head of a small Gondorian force of untrained men, dressed as war-hardened soldiers. He was sure that he looked ridiculous, wearing Haradrim armour and covered in fake tattoos. The worst thing was the lack of hair, which made him feel awfully naked. 'For Balian,' he thought, just to reinforce his determination. His friend was lost, but that did not mean they had to let Narbazanes win.

Jack clutched a strange bundle in his arms and grumbled all the way from Minas Tirith to Mordor. Quite a feat, really, if one considered the distance. The pirate complained that it was dry, he couldn't hear the sound of the sea, the saddle was uncomfortable, the horse smelled funny. Imad supposed it was his way of hiding his nervousness. Most people just tended to stay quiet.

The Black Gates loomed before them. As soon as the sentries caught sight of Imad in his Haradrim armour, the shout was raised. They were falling for it. '_Inshallah, _Xerxes' side of things is going just as well,' thought the Arab. He had no time to dwell on his prayers. Jack, despite all his reluctance, launched into his role.

"Oi, you! Nasty Face!" he hollered. "Wot? You too scared to fight yer own battles, eh? Come out! This is Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy, and you does what I tells you to do!" All right, maybe he was throwing himself into his role a bit too much, especially with the deliberate grammatical mistakes.

The guards on the top of the Black Gates sniggered. "You think you can challenge the might of our king?" they called down. "Atarxerxes, you are a fool, if you dare to show your face before the gates of the Dark Land."

"Tell the usurper that his death is nigh," said Imad. Would Xerxes speak like this? He doubted that even the Haradrim prince would keep his characteristic sarcasm in such a situation.

"You think I'm stupid, eh?" said Jack, grinning widely. With that, he opened his strange bundle. Imad caught a glimpse of a glass jar, filled with...what was _that_? "Look what I got here!" The pirate lifted his prize high above his head and waved it, as if he was afraid that the guards on the top of the wall would not see the very odd object.

"I got a jar of dirt!" he sang, rather tunelessly. "I got a jar of dirt! And guess what's inside it?" Imad's horse snorted, while his rider wished that he could just melt into thin air like the desert djinn. He'd agreed to be bait, but not be humiliated by being associated with Jack Sparrow and his...jar of dirt..._earth. _Now that sounded better, but not that much better.

The Haradrim soldiers looked at each other, and then burst out laughing. Jack Sparrow had their undivided attention. Never before had they encountered such entertainment.

* * *

With the help of a spyglass —Will's—, Legolas could see the events happening before the Black Gates very clearly from his vantage point on the top of the Tower of Ecthelion. And it was the oddest thing he'd ever seen in his long life. Jack Sparrow was dancing in front of the enemy, waving a jar of dirt above his head. What was that mad pirate trying to achieve? Well, it was a diversion, he supposed, and this 'dirt dance' of Jack's was very distracting, to say the least.

With that thought on his mind, the elf turned his focus south, to where Xerxes was trying to sneak past enemy lines. He could see no sign of Xerxes, and no sign of a skirmish either. Legolas took that to be a good sign. It was very likely that the Haradrim prince was already making his way towards the core of Narbazanes' power.

* * *

Xerxes crouched behind a black rock, pressing himself against its rough surface as he waited for yet another patrol group to pass. With his face smudged with soot, he doubted that they would think he was anything but a rank and file soldier, but it was better not to take the risk. Mordor had been transformed back into the fortress it had been during the days of the Dark Lord. And no wonder, for there was a new Dark Lord on the throne. Towers had sprung up like weeds after the rains— jagged teeth of dark rock marring the landscape, not that there was much to mar.

Would Sarvenaz be in one of those towers? Or would she be safe, in Harad? His throat moved up and down as he remembered her, with her veil blowing in the desert wind. They'd been young and happy then, not weighed down by burdens of revenge and their duties to their people. The corners of his lips turned up in a wistful smile as he remembered the way she would look at him, enticing him. He'd felt invincible then. How wrong he'd been, and how naive.

The prince forced his thoughts back to the present. Now was not the time to dwell on what could've been. He had to focus on defeating Narbazanes, and then he could think about rebuilding his life with the woman he loved.

A gust of wind raised clouds of dust, hiding him from the patrols. He peered around him through narrowed eyes. There, in the distance, he could just make out the faint silhouette of a dark tower. Its style was different to that of the others, from what he could see. Perhaps this was not built by Narbazanes, but by Sauron himself. Something was drawing him towards it. Xerxes, being a man of impulse rather than reason, slowly made his way towards that dark tower.

* * *

Jack was getting tired of prancing around with a jar of dirt. With all those people laughing and jeering at him, he _knew_ he was making an idiot of himself. 'Well, nanny, we sure all did pull out our fingers to help you. Well, we _tried _to help you.' The pirate decided that the next time he was going to deliberately act as the diversion, he was going to keep a very big supply of rum with him. If he had to humiliate himself, then he would do it while he was too intoxicated to care. Everything worked better that way.

* * *

Narbazanes heard murmured rumours about some sort of entertainment at the Black Gate. He quickly summoned Safar. The eunuch might be incomplete as a man, but he did not lack ears. "What is going on?" he demanded.

"Atarxerxes is at the Black Gate, Sire," said the eunuch, "and with him is an odd man waving a jar of dirt around. The men are all watching him."

"And laughing, no doubt," said the Magelord, who did not seem to find this amusing at all. If they were all busy laughing at some madman who was prancing around with a jar of dirt, then who was to say there wasn't some other secret force creeping behind their ranks in the hope of sabotaging their infrastructure and weakening them? "Come Safar, we are going to the Gates."

A saddled horse, with a gleaming black coat, was waiting outside Narbazanes' Mordor residence. With practised ease, the Magelord swung himself into the saddle. Other kings might ride sedan chairs, but not him. He came from a long line of proud warriors who'd written their names in blood in the History of Eastern Middle Earth, and he would make sure that the Haradrim never forgot they were a proud people—men born to conquer and rule. And now was the time. Those usurpers from the West would submit to him, and he would be their overlord.

He yanked on the reins to turn his steed. The animal snorted and foamed at the mouth. The froth was pink with blood from the broken corners of his mouth. His nostrils flared, and the whites of his eyes showed. Narbazanes ignored the horse's obvious distress and dug sharp spurs into his gleaming sweaty flanks, drawing blood. The animal surged forward, muscles bunching up beneath him as his hooves ate up the ground.

From far away, Narbazanes could already hear the laughing and jeering. They were definitely not attending to their duties. Fury darkened the Magelord's face. The laughter fell silent as his men saw him. The King of Harad made his way to the very top of the battlements, and found himself looking down at a very odd man who had long tangled hair from which shiny ornamentation dangled. The man seemed to brighten up when he saw the Magelord.

"Oi! Nasty Face!" shouted the eccentric man. "Look what I've got! I've got a jar of dirt! Yeah! A _jar_ of _dirt._ And guess what's inside it?"

"Enough!" snarled Narbazanes. He motioned for the archers on the battlements to fire down on enemy. Let that man try and protect himself with his jar of dirt.

Jack Sparrow kept on making faces up at Narbazanes, who, in his opinion, looked like Aman the Corsair from the Barbary Coast. Well, they had the same skin colour. The pirate's smile quickly froze and faded when he saw the men on the battlements raising their bows and aiming.

"Time to go!" he said, tossing away the jar of dirt and quickly turning to run back to Minas Tirith. He'd forgotten that he had a horse waiting for him. Imad cursed under his breath. At least part of the plan succeeded. Now they would just have to hope that Haradrim bows didn't have a very long range.

Narbazanes caught a glimpse of 'Atarxerxes', and he knew at once that he'd never seen the man before. So if this was a false Atarxerxes, where had the real illegitimate prince of Harad gone?

Arrows flew down, most of them landing in the sand just behind the quickly retreating Gondorian force. Some of them did fell the men who were at the back, but most of the Gondorian force managed to escape, including that very strange man, since the false Atarxerxes had pulled him onto his horse and ridden away with him.

* * *

The gates of Minas Tirith opened for the diversion force, and they swept in. "I am never _ever_ going to prance around and sing 'jar of dirt' again," declared Jack breathlessly. Hanging over Imad's pommel hadn't been the most comfortable way to ride, and he was in a very bad mood. "It's very bad for me health. Now, where's me rum?"

"No one asked you to prance around with your dirt," said the Arab.

"Well, how was I supposed to get their attention then?" demanded Jack.

"By just _being_ there," said Imad. Before he could say more, Legolas rushed down to greet them.

"Xerxes is in," said the elf. "I am certain. And Jack, what was that whole thing with the jar of earth?"

"It's a jar of _dirt_," corrected the pirate. "I was tryin' ta create a diversion, see?"

For the first time in many days, Legolas smiled. It had been very distracting indeed. For the moment at least, he understood why Jack Sparrow and his ragtag group of acquaintances were in Middle Earth. Sometimes, a bit of dishonour and eccentricity was very welcome.

* * *

The tower loomed before Xerxes. No one took any notice of him. To them, he was just another Haradrim guard. He stared at the steps, which led up to an ominous set of metal doors. Something was drawing him towards that tower, beckoning to him. He pushed open the doors. They creaked as they gave way. It was dark inside, and cool. His soft footsteps echoed. A flight of stairs extended all the way up to the top. He followed them, turning around every now and then to make sure that he was not being followed. That was when he heard voices, or rather, one voice. It was coming from one of the rooms off to the side.

Cautiously, like a cat stalking its prey, he crept up to the door, and peered in. There, in the room, staring at her mirror, was a woman whose face almost made his heart stop. Xerxes' jaw dropped. "Sar...Sarvenaz?" he said. The woman looked up. Time and hardship had not diminished her beauty. She looked up, and her hands flew to her mouth.

"Xerxes?" she gasped. "My prince...is that you?"

"Yes," whispered the Haradrim prince. He forgot why he was in Harad, or the burdens which bore down on his shoulders. His mind was filled with the intoxicating sweetness of her manner. He swept her into his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder. "I've come for you. I'll get you out of here. We'll leave this place. No more palaces, no more kingdoms. We'll just live as a man and a woman ought to. I will never let anything happen to you again, Sarvenaz."

Sarvenaz listened to his voice. All the while, her hand moved discreetly, slipping a dagger from her sleeve. "That sounds very nice," she murmured. The smooth hilt of the dagger was in her hand now. It was warm and alive, thirsting for blood. She plunged the sharp blade between the ribs of the man who held her. He was unprepared for the pain which lanced through him, and he staggered backwards, staring down at the blood pouring from his body in shock. The pain of betrayal hurt more than the wound itself.

"You..." he whispered. He was growing light-headed. The edges of his vision were darkening. Everything was becoming a blur.

"Perhaps you have not considered that I _want_ things to happen to me?" she said. The blood on her hands and her clothes did not bother her one bit. "I've waited for too many years. I'm not waiting any longer. I _will_ be Queen of the Harad, and Lady of all Middle Earth."

"I trusted you..."

"Yes, Xerxes, you have always been a trusting fool. But that was not why I did what I did?"

"Why...?"

"Your greatest crime, my prince, was your lack of ambition. I urged you to take the throne. You didn't agree. I despise weakness, especially in a man."

By now, the Haradrim prince had fallen to his knees, brought down by the treachery of his lover. He could only stare at her through a veil of disbelief. How could she? Her cold glittering eyes were foreign to him. Not that anything mattered anymore. He knew he was a dead man. The world was fading away; the pain, the sorrow. Before him, he could see a path of light leading up to a golden citadel...

Xerxes' eyes closed, and his prone body fell to the floor. His blood pooled beneath him, creating a dark spreading puddle. "Summon the Lord Commander!" said Sarvenaz. "I want him to take the head to my lord Narbazanes." Let the man see what happened to those who displeased her. Perhaps that would make him more respectful.

* * *

**A/N:** So that's the end of one OC. Our guys will find out about it soon enough, and once again, their plans have failed. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Nothing much has happened. It's more of a filler. I'll try to remedy that in the next update.


	22. Evil Unleashed

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize (a very long list). I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 21: Evil Unleashed**

Wind lashed the bodies of the ships. Rain bombarded them, making it very difficult to see. Over the roaring of the waves and wind, Anna-Maria could hear Barbossa laughing as he fired upon the panicking enemy. He had a rather morbid and twisted sense of humour. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to laugh about. Calypso was in her element, raising her hands to the sky. The waves obeyed her —well, Anna-Maria knew for a fact that they did. That, more than anything, frightened the enemy out of their senses.

The _Drunken Sparrow_ came up alongside one of the Haradrim ships. "Prepare to board!" shouted Anna-Maria to her crew. They were ready, with grappling hooks in their hands. The metal hooks bit into the wood of the ship. Others swung over, swords at the ready. The Haradrim captain, seeing that all was lost, quickly surrendered. Despite being wet, cold and tired, Anna-Maria could not help but feel satisfied. One victory under the belt, and she didn't have to share it with Jack.

* * *

Jack Sparrow pacing was a rather funny sight to behold. For one, he didn't do it in a straight line. Secondly, he kept walking into the furniture and cursing. "Relax, Jack," said Will. "Anna-Maria will be fine. She can look after herself, and Barbossa and Gibbs are with her."

"That's exactly the point!" said Jack, flinging his hands dramatically into the air and kicking at a footstool. "I don't trust that mutinous git, said git being Barbossa, and it's a bleedin' storm!"

"If I may interrupt, Jack," said Elizabeth. "The storm is probably Calypso's doing, so..."

"Wot? You think I trusts that murderous otherworldly...female? She's probably made a maelstrom, knowing her."

Seeing that all the reassurances were just making Jack more nervous, Will opted for the fail safe way and pressed a bottle of liquor into his friend's hand. Jack put it to his lips, threw back his head and downed most of it in one go. That seemed to have the desired effect because he collapsed into the nearest armchair and was soon dead to the world. Legolas, who'd been watching the drama from behind a book on elvish history, looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"You finally got him to calm down?" he said.

As if in response, Jack grunted in his drunken sleep and then began to snore. "I don't see how he would still be conscious," said Will. "It was most of a bottle of Dorwinian."

"It shows," said Legolas. "I wonder what would've happened if we tried to coax Balian to..." He trailed off, his eyes becoming distant and haunted as he remembered what the man had become. The blacksmith was gone, or so Xerxes had said. And they had no way to free him except do what that cursed prophecy said. Legolas had no intention of ever doing that. He closed the book. His attention had been broken. The elf stood up. "I'm going outside to have a look," he said. Will dutifully handed over his spyglass.

Legolas climbed to the top of the Tower of Ecthelion and looked out across the Pelennor fields to Mordor. He moved his gaze slowly until it fell on the Black Gates. There, amongst the heads on spikes, he saw a familiar face.

* * *

They all heard Legolas' shout of alarm from afar, and rushed to see what had happened. Aragorn was the first to reach him. "What's wrong, Legolas?" he asked. The elf almost leapt down from his vantage point. "Xerxes," said the elf. "Everything's gone wrong. He's failed. They found him."

"How do you know?" said the king.

"His head is on a spike on the Black Gates," said Legolas, closing his eyes as he remembered the Haradrim's ravaged face.

"Gods," said Paris. "This is impossible. We win one small victory, and they win a few big ones! We're never going to beat them!"

"Oh, stop having such a cheerful outlook," snapped Achilles, the new captain of the Elite Guard.

"It's better than being delusional like you," retorted the Trojan.

"Shut it, you two!" said Elizabeth. Will wisely kept to the background. If his wife was going to fight with Paris and Achilles, he wanted no part in it. "We _will_ fight, and they _will_ die, savvy?" The two men looked at each other, not sure of how to react. They had never been lectured by a woman who was not their mother.

"You said savvy," Paris finally managed to say.

* * *

Paris paced in the library. He'd been charged with the task of relaying the bad news to Bahram. No one else had been willing to do it. Their excuse was that Paris was a diplomat, and they were warriors. The Trojan prince ran through his prepared speech in his head. How did you tell someone that the brother who'd loved and protected him was dead, and that the head was on a spike? He'd lived through the pain and regret and all the questions. He didn't want to inflict the same agonies on this kind naive boy. "You just have to do it, Paris," he told himself. Out of all the king's men, he'd been closest to the Haradrim prince, since it had been him who'd first recommended the man as a sailor.

He strode out of the library and went out in search of Bahram. These days, he was usually where Cassandra was, and Cassandra rather liked the gardens. He found them sitting on a white stone bench, snuggling up to each other and laughing over a private joke. He hated himself for being the one who would crush this happy moment. His sister hadn't been this happy since...since before the fall of Troy.

The prince cleared his throat to alert the two young people to his presence. They sprang apart as if some invisible force had come between them. "Paris!" said Cassandra. "What a surprise!"

"Cassandra, I need to talk to Bahram in private," said Paris. Cassandra looked at her brother, and then at Bahram. An expression of worry flitted across her face. Her brother was unusually tense. Gods, the last thing she needed was for him to give Bahram a 'talk' for getting too close to her. Just as well it was Paris, who still did not know how to use a sword properly. If it had been Hector, speaking in that tone and with that expression, she would've been very worried for the young Haradrim prince.

"Um, all right," she said. "I'll be with...uh..." She looked around, and saw Éowyn taking Barisian for a walk. "Uh...Lady Éowyn." She glanced at Paris again. "You won't do anything...drastic, will you?"

Paris sucked in his cheeks. Would telling the poor boy that his brother was dead be termed drastic? "We're just going to talk," he finally resorted to saying.

Cassandra nodded, and then left the men to their business. Éowyn was holding Barisian's hand and supporting him as he toddled along. He looked so much like Balian that the princess felt a lump coming to her throat. No matter how angry she'd been at the man, he still did not deserve his fate. "Come on, little one," Éowyn was saying. "Look at that! That's a butterfly." She pointed out the colourful insect to the little boy.

"Buh-fwy," said Barisian, reaching out to try and catch the creature. "Pwetty." Ever since his father's capture, the boy had withdrawn into himself. They'd tried everything to make him talk, to stimulate him, but he never uttered more than two words at a time. When he did talk, he mostly asked about the absent Balian.

"Yes, it's very pretty," said Éowyn encouragingly. "See, it's blue, and black." The boy nodded.

"He misses Balian," said Cassandra softly.

Éowyn looked up in surprise. Usually, Cassandra didn't go anywhere near Barisian. What had caused this change of attitude? "We all do," she said. "What brings you here?"

"Paris wants to talk to Bahram in private," said Cassandra awkwardly.

The Shieldmaiden smiled. "Oh, he's feeling protective," she said as she remembered how her own brother had given her husband a 'talk'. "At least Paris is not likely to go rough with Bahram. Your brother does not seem to be the physical sort. When Éomer and Faramir had their 'talk', I almost panicked. That was until I heard them laughing about me, and then I ignored them for an entire day. Faramir apologized very sincerely and presented me with flowers and pastries. Éomer was most unrepentant."

Cassandra giggled. It wasn't hard to imagine that the gentle Steward would be intimidated by his wife. "Paris' tongue is sharp though," she mused. "And Bahram and I are just close friends. We're not even courting."

"Of course you're just friends," said Éowyn with a twinkle in her eye. She knew how quickly friendship could change. Hadn't she viewed Faramir as simply a friend less than a month before they'd become betrothed?

While they'd been talking, Barisian had wandered off. He'd seen a red rose. His mother had liked roses. He wondered where she was, and where was his Papa? They'd both said they loved him, but why weren't they there with him? He tried to reach up for the rose. Perhaps that would bring his parents back, if he gave them presents. Well, at least this might bring his Mama back. However, he was not tall enough. The little boy gripped the stem to try to pull the flower down, and immediately pricked his hand on one of the sharp thorns. As the blood welled up and the sting hit him, he did what all children did when they were in pain. He let out a loud wail. That caught the women's attention. Éowyn rushed over to pick him up.

"You poor thing," she said, cuddling him as he hiccupped and sobbed.

"Want Mama!" he insisted. "Want Papa!" Éowyn started singing to him to calm him down, but it was no use. He would not settle for anything less than one of his parents. Just then, Cassandra heard an anguished cry. It didn't sound like Paris.

* * *

Anna-Maria rushed into the Citadel, wet and ecstatic. "Jack!" she shouted as she strode determinedly through the corridors of stone, leaving a trail of water behind her. "Jack Sparra!" Where had that rum-soaked pirate gone? "Sparra, show yer face!" By the delights of Tortuga, he was all right, wasn't he? Or had the diversion gone wrong?

"Anna-Maria?" said Will's voice. She whipped around to see the young Admiral. "Jack's ...um...intoxicated at the moment, so he can't, well, hear you."

"Bloody pirate's gone and drowned hisself in rum again, hasn't he?" growled Anna-Maria. Why didn't Jack understand that too much drink was not good for the health? Was it really such a hard concept to grasp?

"Actually..." Will coughed, feeling uncomfortable. "It was Dorwinian."

"How did _Jack_ manage to get 'nuff of that to drown himself in?" asked the small woman suspiciously. She narrowed her eyes at Will. His discomfort was evident, and she wanted to know why.

"He was worried about you, and panicking, so I...uh...had to resort to desperate measures," said the Admiral.

"He was worried about me?" said Anna-Maria, softening immediately. That was so un-Jack-like that it robbed her of coherent thought. "Well, I suppose it's all right then, Admiral Turner, as long as he's fine."

"Why wouldn't he be?" said Will, now smiling. There was going to be a Mrs. Sparrow sooner than he'd thought, he was willing to bet. "He's Captain Jack Sparrow."

* * *

Aragorn hadn't felt so glad in many days. With all the bad news recently, it felt good to be able to hear of at least one victory. The sky outside was dark, and the candles lit up his chamber with their warm glow. Arwen looked up from the heavy tome she was reading and greeted him with a smile. "I haven't seen you so happy in a long time, Estel," she said softly. "With everything that's been happening..." Unnoticed by her husband, her hand strayed to her belly.

"Captains Barbossa and Anna-Maria have returned victorious from their little venture," he said, grinning. "I've sent out Norrington and Hector to patrol the southern coast. I don't think we'll be having much more trouble from the sea." Aragorn sat down on the bed beside his wife and took her hands in his. "Everything will be fine," he said. "Trust me."

"Of course I do," said Arwen softly, resting her head on his chest and relishing in the feel of his arms around her. "I know you will look after us."

Aragorn was not so tired that he missed the meaning behind her words. "Us?" he said. Arwen beamed up at him.

"Yes, Estel; us," she said, taking his hand and resting it on her belly. Aragorn was speechless with shock, and he could only stare at his wife in wonder. "I'm carrying a little Dùnadan."

* * *

In the dark bowels of his fortress, Narbazanes was holding a war council. All the petty chieftains of Harad were present, except for those few fools who'd challenged him. They were outside, accompanying his dear nephew. With Balian standing behind him, the Magelord felt powerful and ready.

"Guy de Lusignan," said the Magelord. "I want you to lead a force to Rohan."

"My lord...Rohan?" said Guy with a start. Why that godforsaken land? It was so far and so barren. There was nothing there; no treasures, no big cities, no caravans to raid. What could he possibly do there?

"Yes, Guy, Rohan," said Narbazanes. "You do know what that is, do you not?"

"Well, of course," said Guy hurriedly. "But why do you want me there?"

"Do not question my reasoning," said the Magelord. "If I order you to do something, then there is of course a reason. I want you to raid. That should be simple enough."

"My lord," began Balian. "Perhaps..."

"No, Lord Commander," said Narbazanes, raising a hand to stop the man in the middle of his sentence. "I have another task for you."

* * *

In Rohan, all was quiet, or so it seemed. Tension was rife in the air. They'd all heard of the recent happenings in Gondor, and what they'd heard disturbed them. With Gondor under siege, Rohan could very well be next, and the Valar knew they weren't very strong. Éomer could only hope that he would have enough time to prepare. He spent his days discussing these matters with the war leaders of Rohan. As they pored over maps, and discussed their defences, there was a shout from outside. The doors of Meduseld were flung open, and a bloodied rider staggered in. "Haradrim!" he gasped. "They've been sighted on the border!"

At the back of Éomer's mind, he registered a sarcastic voice saying that 'sighted' was a rather weak verb to describe what had happened. He pushed that sarcastic voice to the back of his mind. He was the king of a nation at war. He could not be sarcastic, at least, not right now. "My helmet!" he barked, holding out his hand. A servant handed him the requested piece of headgear. The king and his advisers strode out into the cold sunlight of Edoras. His people turned to him, seeking protection, reassurance, everything that a king ought to offer.

Éomer stood proud and tall. The wind whipped his flaxen hair around his face. His eyes, piercing like an eagle's, surveyed them. It was his duty to protect them. "How many?" he said in a low voice to the man at his shoulder, who happened to be Gamling.

"About ten thousand, mostly cavalry," said Gamling. "The man didn't count."

"How many men do we have?" asked Éomer.

"In Edoras? Seven hundred at the most," said Gamling. "It would take at least two days for reinforcements to arrive. From what the man said, the enemy will be here by tomorrow morning. They ride quickly. What will you do, Sire?"

"I will not run," said Éomer firmly. "There is no time to go to Helms Deep. Help must come to us." He turned to the captain of his Royal Guard. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course, my lord," said the man, rather taken aback by that question. "I would go with you to the very end."

"Then do as you say and trust me, Gamling," said the king. He looked up. Just outside Edoras was a high peak. At the very top, was hope.

"Light the beacons!" said Éomer.

* * *

Faramir was getting very bored, and rather impatient too. Usually, he wasn't like that, but they were at war, and as Steward, he felt he ought to be doing something useful instead of lying on a couch and submitting himself to Éowyn's pampering. Not that it wasn't nice, but he simply wasn't in the mood.

"Honestly, Éowyn, I can do paperwork. That is definitely not going to affect my recovery," he protested.

"Well, I don't want you to overwork yourself," said his wife sternly, moving aside a pile of paper and setting down a bowl of soup on his low table. "As far as I know, there are no immediate concerns. Anna-Maria and Hector Barbossa have just won another battle, with help from a sea-goddess. I should think everything is fine."

"Still, the king needs me," argued Faramir. Éowyn took the opportunity to spoon pumpkin soup into his mouth. He tried to protest as elegantly as he could without spilling soup all over himself, and that made him rather incomprehensible. He swallowed the soup. "You didn't make that, did you?" He said, trying to suppress a grin.

The Shieldmaiden of Rohan set down the bowl and spoon and crossed her arms, pretending to look annoyed, but she couldn't find it in her. Faramir was so endearing when he grinned like this. "Seriously, Faramir, what makes you think that _I,_ your beautiful and talented wife, did not make this soup?"

"It's just a guess," Faramir, said, extending a hand to draw her closer to him. "But I am right, aren't I?"

Éowyn bent down and kissed him on the lips. "For once," she said playfully.

* * *

Guy caught sight of Edoras, the first 'civilized' place he'd visited in Middle Earth. It hadn't changed much. The barricades were still wooden, and the hall of Meduseld still looked like a glorified barn to him. The only difference was that unlike last time, the entire city was armed and ready to fight the invaders. 'Pathetic,' he thought. Who could withstand the might of the Haradrim cavalry? Sneering, he led his forces closer, until they were almost within firing range.

However, the Rohirrim, being on high ground, had a larger firing range, and they took advantage of it. Arrows rained down on the Haradrim. They raised their shields to shelter themselves, but some of the arrows found their marks, embedding themselves in the flesh of men and horses.

"Do not panic!" shouted Guy, even though he was panicking himself. What was he to do? Edoras was out of their firing range, and he had no desire to brave the arrows and get shot in order to get the city within range of their archers. "Pull back! We make camp around the city. Let's see how long it takes for them to starve!"

In his panicking state, Guy failed to notice that the beacons were burning merrily; a trail of lights in the dark night.

* * *

In Minas Tirith, a call was raised. Soon, the message spread everywhere. "The beacons have been lit," Achilles reported to Aragorn, not really understanding the significance of it.

"Rohan calls for aid," said the king. "Narbazanes must have somehow sent a force around us to attack them. If Rohan falls, then Gondor will be surrounded by the Haradrim. Send word down to the commanders, Achilles. I will ride for Rohan in two days' time. Faramir, Imad and Paris will remain behind to guard the White City. The rest of us will go to aid our allies."

"As you wish, milord," said Achilles with a bow. Inside, he was filled with excitement. He would be fighting, actually fighting, the enemy, at last. For the past few months, he'd been feeling misplaced. There had been no task for him in Middle Earth, until now. Briseis probably wouldn't be too happy about him leaving her, but she was strong, and he was certain that she would be fine. Who would be able to breach these high strong walls of white stone?

Aragorn, although he had been named Hope, was not as optimistic. In truth, he was reluctant to leave Arwen, especially now that she was carrying his child. His thoughts conflicted with each other. The king in him knew that it was his duty to lead his armies against the enemy, but the husband wanted to remain with his pregnant wife. But his sense of duty was greater than any familial ties. He had to ride to Rohan. King Théoden had died to save Minas Tirith from destruction. What kind of ally would he be if he didn't repay that debt in full?

He turned to the window and looked eastwards, across the fields of Pelennor and to Mordor. Who would've thought that after the destruction of the One Ring, trouble would still come from the East? Would it ever stop? The king smiled wryly. No, it probably never would. There was always some evil lingering in the world, just as there was darkness inside every man. No one could've predicted that Balian, Defender of the Weak, would have become a weapon of the enemy. And yet he had.

The king glanced back to his desk, where the sword of Ibelin still lay, its brilliance unblemished by the fall of its owner. He would give the sword to Barisian. The boy needed something to remember his father by. Aragorn was sure that Balian would've wanted his only child to have it.

Sighing, he went to find Arwen. She needed to be told of his impending campaign.

* * *

Safar let the messenger into the throne room without questioning him. Narbazanes had said that he wanted his news as soon as possible. It would not do to delay the Master's business. The death of Atarxerxes had boosted the morale of the troops, and frightened any internal opposition into silence.

"Sire," panted the messenger. Narbazanes looked up lazily. He held a goblet of wine loosely in his hand, while Sarvenaz kneaded the muscles in his neck and shoulders. The Lord Commander was standing impassively to one side, as he tended to do. "Elessar has moved out towards Rohan. Most of the army has gone with him. Minas Tirith is half-empty."

Narbazanes quickly lost his bored expression. He pushed Sarvenaz away. Finally, he could attack the core of Gondor, and do what Sauron had not been able to do. He would end the line of Isildur. "Lord Commander," he said, without looking at Balian. The man stepped in front of him and bowed.

"My lord," said Balian. His eyes betrayed no emotion. Inside, he was desperate not to obey the Magelord, but what could he do? His body didn't even belong to him anymore.

"You will lead your elite force inside Minas Tirith. I trust you know where there are side doors and secret passageways," said the king of Harad. "We will distract them by bombarding their main gates and pretending as though we intend to breach their walls by force. I want you to kill the queen. Nothing else matters. Kill the elf-witch." In the meantime, he would send another force into Rohan. Elessar would die. He, Narbazanes of Harad, would make sure of it.

"As you command, milord," said Balian.

* * *

**A/N:** Mwahahaha! And I end with a cliffie :) So, what do you think? Evil? Or not?


	23. Freedom At Last

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Paris, Hector, Achilles, Will, Jack, Elizabeth, Faramir etc. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them when I'm done, savvy?

**Chapter 22: Freedom At Last**

Bahram sat in the dark room. The curtains were drawn. He had no desire to see the sun, or anything for that matter. Xerxes was dead, and he'd died while trying to reclaim Bahram's kingdom. The youth felt as if this was his fault. If it hadn't been for him, Xerxes wouldn't have had to go behind enemy lines, and then he wouldn't have been killed.

The young prince fingered the dagger at his belt. In all his life, he'd never used it once. This blade had yet to taste blood. Xerxes had presented it to him on his tenth birthday. "I promise you, brother, that the first blood this blade will drink will be the blood of Narbazanes," he said. There was no one in the room, but the flame of the lone candle flickered, as if his brother's spirit was there with him, and Xerxes had heard.

* * *

Unease grew like a tumour inside Aragorn's mind as he led his army closer and closer to Edoras. His men marched steadily onwards; a barricade of gleaming silver against the approaching darkness. What awaited them there? Apart from the beacons, they'd received no news from Rohan. Éomer must've been surrounded, or why else would he not send a clearer message?

The king wondered how his wife was. She was all right, wasn't she? 'Of course she'll be fine,' Aragorn told himself. Arwen knew how to take care of herself, and he'd left her in good hands. Éowyn was not a woman to be trifled with, and he knew just how frightening Captain Swann could be. Besides, Barbossa was there as well, and although he might have mutinied against Jack, the king felt that once someone gained his loyalty, they never lost it. The old pirate might have trouble admitting that he was a loyal man, but that was what he was.

"Estel?" said Legolas. "What concerns you?"

"Nothing that ought to concern me," replied Aragorn. "Don't worry about me, Legolas. Worry about the upcoming battle. I've fought the Haradrim cavalry, many years ago. They are a force to be reckoned with."

* * *

Guy saw the glint of silver in the distance as he strolled around his camp with a goblet of wine in his hand. "What's that?" he demanded of the sentries.

"The Gondorian army, I believe," replied one of the men smoothly. "What else can it be?"

Guy's expression darkened. "Aragorn," he hissed under his breath. That was not the only thing which irked him. He didn't like the way his men seemed to hold him in rather low regard. However, there was no time to dwell on such things.

"Prepare for battle!" he shouted, abandoning his drink. The men scurried to do his bidding, not because they feared Guy, but because far away in the land of Mordor, someone was watching them, and he was not one to gladly suffer failure.

* * *

Balian felt the winged beast's muscles ripple beneath him as it beat its powerful wings, creating wind which tore through his hair. The beast cried out in its hoarse voice. It could see Minas Tirith, and it was hungering for fresh meat. He wanted to cry out too. If he'd been in control, he would've thrown himself from the beast's back.

Below him, the army marched like legions of black devouring ants which had no mercy for their intended prey. They would strip flesh from bones. Their weapons gleamed in the grey light like jagged metal teeth. Even high up here, he could hear the faint sound of boots striking the ground in unison.

And then, Minas Tirith, nestled like a pearl between the towering cliffs of the mountains which protected its back; it was the core of Gondor, the rallying point for the troops of the west. For the Master's ambitions, it had to go, and the house of its lord along with it.

The beast landed, rather roughly, since Balian had not yet mastered the skill of guiding it to a perfect landing. He slid off its leathery back, not taking his eyes off the White City. His attention was fixed on the Citadel. He remembered it very clearly. His real self, the trapped spirit, was fighting more strongly than ever, now that he could see what was at stake. For a moment, he was back in control, and immediately, he took a step backwards. "Barisian," he said in a broken whisper. "I'm so sorry." Would he ever see his son again? Before he could do any more, his dark presence was back, roughly pushing him aside.

"My lord?" said one of the elite force. "Are you..." He trailed off as Balian fixed him with a cold stare. Of course the Lord Commander was all right. He wasn't sure about the soul of the man trapped inside that body, but the Lord Commander would never be less than fine.

Balian handed the reins of his steed to the man who was to be his decoy while he and his elite found their way inside the city. He signalled to his men. The battle cry was raised, shaking the very foundations upon which Middle Earth had been built. This was the release of pent up frustration from years of serving another dark lord. Now, they finally had their sovereignty, and they were going to rule the world.

Of all the things Paris had expected, he had not expected this. The armies of the Haradrim were approaching the walls of Gondor with battering rams, tall towers on wheels, ladders, and those strange machines called 'tre-boo-shay'. "To the walls!" Faramir was shouting. Legions of enemies in their dark leather armour had gathered. Ladders were propped up, and men clambered up their rungs like trails impending destruction.

"Gods," whispered the prince. Why was he here? He could not fight, and was completely useless in such a situation. Where was that damn Greek when you needed him?

"Paris!" shouted Imad. "Return to the Citadel and barricade yourself with the Queen! She is under your protection!"

The Trojan prince blanched. This was such a big obligation. Protect Arwen? What if he failed? If he couldn't adequately protect himself, then how could he protect the queen of Gondor? "Show some backbone, Paris," he muttered. "It's time to prove that you're not a coward." Everyone else was occupied —and that was surely an understatement; if he could do nothing on the battlements, then at least he could try and protect those who could not defend themselves, adequately, that is. Helen had been getting quite deft with the sword lately.

White stone was stained with red as the first attackers clambered over the top of the walls to clash with the defenders. They were cut down by the flashing steel blades of the Gondorians. Faramir ignored the burning pain as this rough movement tore the stitches in his side. Éowyn would be less than pleased, but that could not be helped. They were at war. What was his life compared to the survival of Gondor? The king had left him in charge, and he intended to hold the city. If the Haradrim wanted to come in, they would have to step over his dead body. 'With their numbers, that's quite likely,' he thought to himself.

* * *

James Norrington had to admit that he had no experience when it came to defending land-bound fortresses. He'd thought it no different from defending a ship, but in a ship, falling didn't necessarily mean dying. His elegant sword with the thin blade was not very good for parrying the large curved sabres of the enemy. All he could do was duck. Nearby, he glimpsed Will, who was fighting with one of those very large and cumbersome swords. Although that slowed him down, it seemed to do the job. Elizabeth, he presumed, had been forced to barricade herself with the children and the other women, since she was not here. If she'd had her way, she would've been on the battlements fighting alongside her husband.

Jack hit one unfortunate over the head with an empty rum bottle and shot another. "I'll show ya ta attack the King's fortress!" he shouted over the din of battle as he kicked someone off the wall. "Give me greetings to Jones, will ya? An' tell ole Beelzebub that he owes me a bottle o' rum!" Jack the monkey was screeching somewhere as he assaulted an unsuspecting Haradrim attacker. Barbossa could be heard cackling.

Ragetti and Pintel fought back to back, each kill giving them a sense of accomplishment, and lessening their fear. "I says we're good fighters!" said Ragetti.

"An' I says ye can go ta hell!" roared Pintel. That was not meant for Ragetti. The fat pirate ran someone through with his cutlass. "I fink we're gettin' the hang o' this!"

"Yeah, that's wot I sayed," said Ragetti. "An' we've been ta hell. Not a nice place at all."

"No, we stayed outside hell," said Pintel. "Turner an' the others went in, but we stayed out."

"We were right outside, and we could see it, so I says we were there," argued Ragetti, ducking a wide swipe from a Haradrim. The movement dislodged his newly carved wooden eye. The pirate quickly abandoned any battle tactics he'd gained and crawled desperately after it, tripping up many in the process.

"Oi! Come back!" shouted Pintel, running after his partner in crime. He was duly ignored.

* * *

The Guards of the Citadel were caught unawares when they were suddenly assaulted by a force of about a hundred men which had appeared out of nowhere. The attack was so sudden that they could not coordinate quickly enough to defend the heart of Minas Tirith.

Balian wiped his bloodied blades on one of the dead men's tunics. Now nothing stood between him and his target.

* * *

The sound of battle filtered through the thick walls. Elizabeth hugged Willie closer to her. All the while, her thoughts dwelt on Will. "Papa's going to be all right, isn't he?" asked Willie. "Uncle Jack-Jack said he's the bestest sword-fighter ever."

"He is indeed," said Elizabeth.

"Papa?" Barisian asked. He'd heard Willie say the word; in his mind, there was only one Papa, and that was Balian. The rest of the men were called 'Uncle Will' and 'Uncle Jack-Jack' and 'Cap'n' and all sorts of funny names.

"He's not here," said Éowyn softly, kissing him on his soft downy head. He snuggled up to her. The Shieldmaiden felt a pang of desire; a desire to start a family of her own with the man she loved. Why was it that she and Faramir never had a day of peace? There was always some war going on. Shieldmaiden she might be, but she was getting sick of it.

Paris paced, clutching his bow so tightly that his knuckles were white. He would not deny to being nervous. In fact, he was more than nervous; he was absolutely terrified. If the enemy broke through, then he had a feeling he would be the women and children's last defence. The Trojan Prince wasn't sure if he could live up to the expectations of those who'd put him in charge.

"Paris," said Helen. Her soft voice, although low and gentle, had a firm determined edge to it. She stopped him in his pacing. The prince looked into his wife's blue eyes. There was strength there which he had not seen before. This was not the Helen who'd needed rescuing. This was the Helen who could fight for what she believed in, and she would. She gripped the hilt of a light slightly curved sword in her hand. It looked like it was of elvish make, with its high quality blade of blue steel and simple elegance. The tip of the blade rested on the floor, but he knew that this Helen could launch a defence or an offence at any moment, and he loved her all the more for it.

"Make your brother proud," she said. "Make me proud."

Paris nodded. His wife's words warmed his heart and he felt renewed confidence surge through him.

The sounds of fighting drew closer; too close. They heard a man's cry fade into a gurgle. There was pounding on the door. Briseis' hand flew to her sword hilt. Paris put an arrow to his bowstring. Éowyn handed Barisian over to Andromache and drew her own sword. Elizabeth and Anna-Maria had both blades and guns ready. Willie was very glad that he was not on the receiving end of his mother's glare. He gripped his own sword —a gift from Barbossa— and got ready to launch himself at anything that came through that door.

Their guards were already at the door, bracing it. It was no use; the enemy broke down the door, swarming through. The Gondorian soldiers put up a good fight, but they were slaughtered by the merciless sabres of the Haradrim. Paris fired in rapid succession, but he was not Legolas. In his nervousness, he failed to kill with every shot.

Andromache was no expert at warfare, but she could tell that they were losing. She was not going to let anyone hurt her child, not while she had strength left in her limbs. She spotted the Sword of Ibelin. "Right," she said, handing Astyanax and Barisian to Cassandra. Hector's wife yanked the sword out of its sheath. It was much heavier than she'd anticipated, but her desperate maternal love for her child gave her strength. She lifted it high above her head and brought it down with all her strength on one man who'd made the mistake of attacking an angry mother.

Bahram's vision was veiled with hatred as he fought these men who'd once served his father. In his eyes, they all became Narbazanes. He moved as if he'd been possessed by the spirit of one of the ancient warriors.

Or just the spirit of his dead brother.

Paris heard Helen cry out as she was knocked aside by a particularly large man. The Haradrim loomed over her, letting his eyes roam over her body. She backed away. She'd lost her sword. Without thinking about his own safety, Paris launched himself at the Haradrim, throwing the man off balance. The man reacted quickly, grabbing Paris by the hair and slamming the prince's head against the wall. White light flashed before Paris' eyes. He heard someone screaming his name, but he couldn't identify the voice. It seemed so far away. The only thing he was truly aware of was the pain in his head. He crumpled to the ground and only just managed to roll away as the Haradrim delivered a downward blow.

Willie didn't like what was happening. They weren't winning. The boy made up his mind. Dodging past the legs of adults, since he was too small to be noticed in the midst of all this chaos, he darted out of the room. Ever since he'd been old enough to walk, Jack and Barbossa had taught him all sorts of ways to keep out of sight.

Eventually, he made his way outside. He needed to find his father and his 'uncles'. They could turn any situation around. Uncle Jack-Jack was the most fearsome pirate in the Caribbean after all, even though the Cap'n always said it wasn't true.

* * *

Éowyn didn't know whether she could keep up her constant parrying and attacking for longer. She was getting tired, and there seemed to be an endless number of enemies. In her tiredness, she stumbled. Her enemy was about to deliver the death blow, but something stopped him.

The Shieldmaiden looked up. The fighting had stopped. The enemy soldiers parted their ranks to let a man dressed completely in black through.

Balian ignored everyone else as he strode towards Arwen. The Queen of Gondor tried to extract a dagger from her sleeve, just in case he was there to harm her. However, she doubted she had it in her to kill this man. Estel loved him like a brother, and it really wasn't his fault; his mind had been overthrown. She pushed the children behind her and hid them with her body. "What do you want?" she asked of him coldly while trying to prevent her voice from shaking.

The man bowed to her. His face showed no emotion, and his eyes might as well have been made of glass. "Your Highness," he said. "I have but one thing to ask of you."

"Ask, but whether you get it or not will depend on what it is."

"Oh, I will have it," said Balian, drawing his blades. "Your life."

Upon hearing those words, Paris gathered the last of his strength and threw himself at Balian, knocking the weapons from his hands. The two men wrestled on the ground with each other. Balian, being possessed and larger than Paris, was quickly gaining the upper hand. However, Paris was driven by desperation and the determination to show that he was a man, and not a coward, as he'd been labelled back in his own homeland. He didn't want to harm Balian, but the other man was not giving him much of a choice.

The possessed Frank now had his hands around Paris' throat. The prince's vision was getting hazy and dark at the edges. Still, he fought on, his brother's words repeating themselves over and over in his head. '_I know you will make me proud_,' Hector had said. He would prove his brother right.

* * *

Will's son caught sight of Imad, fighting more or less as someone who'd been trained by the _Hashashin. _"Sir!" he cried. "Sir! The Queen's in trouble! The anemones have gotten in and they're going to hurt everyone!"

Imad ran an enemy soldier through before turning to Willie. He wasn't sure he'd heard right, but he thought that the boy had said that some sea creature was about to kill the Queen of Gondor. Wait...did the boy mean enemy and somehow manage to get his words mixed up? It didn't sound good, either way.

"Anemones?" he asked. "You mean enemies?"

"Aye! I think I saw Bari's Papa! I didn't keep lookin' coz he was scary."

"Balian?" Willie now had Imad's full attention. "He's up in the Citadel?"

Willie nodded. "Come on! I gotta go an' save me ma, and yer gonna help me, savvy?"

"Who said savvy?" demanded Jack. He lobbed a jar of dirt at someone's head. The glass smashed upon impact. Sharp shards as well as dirt showered upon the unfortunate, blinding him. He was easily dispatched by Gibbs who was fighting with a large axe which looked strangely similar to one of Gimli's spares. Just as well as said dwarf was not here. " 'Savvy' is _my_ word, savvy?"

"Uncle Jack-Jack!" cried Willie. "Mama's in trouble!"

"Lizzie's in trouble again, is she?" said Jack, making a face as he stuck a broken arrow into a man's eye, piercing the brain and killing him instantly. "Well, seein' as yer da's busy an' all, it's Captain Jack Sparrow to the rescue again! Yer da really should lock her up an' keep 'er out o' trouble."

"Hurry, Uncle Jack-Jack!" said Willie, and then he remembered something. "I'm gonna get the Cap'n. He'll know what to do!"

"What do you think yer doin', Whelplet!" hollered Jack. "Turner! Whelplet! You've got _Captain_ Jack Sparrow! What do you need Barbossa for?!"

"Hurry, Captain Sparrow!" shouted Imad. He grabbed Jack by the elbow and bodily dragged him in the direction of the Citadel. "The more the better!"

"That kid is gonna get hisself killed, I tell ya," said Jack as he followed the desperate Arab, racing through the blood splattered corridors. The pirate shot whoever tried to attack them. He'd learnt from his previous experiences. He now had extra shots. Elizabeth might be many things, but no one could say she lacked weaponry.

The sounds of fighting, and swearing, grew louder as they neared the room where the Queen and her 'protectors' had barricaded themselves. Imad winced as he recognized the most prolific curses were all coming from Mistress Turner and the possible future Mistress Sparrow. They were...not what women ought to be.

They burst into the room, to find Balian in the process of murdering Paris with his bare hands while the women were fighting off the Haradrim soldiers with more fervour than most of the warriors on the wall. Andromache had lost the Sword of Ibelin and was now using anything she could throw to fend off her attackers.

The Frank threw Paris aside and into a table. He stood up and dusted himself off, as if he'd just rested on the ground for a while. He advanced towards Arwen again. "Now, Your Highness," he said. "There will be no more delays. My master grows impatient."

"Papa?"

Balian stopped. Emotion flickered in his eyes like a flame which was just beginning to take hold. He looked around frantically. "Barisian," he whispered. "_Mon_ _petit_..." The voice of a little boy, and a father's love for said little boy, had broken the dark spells woven by one of the most powerful sorcerers who still resided in Middle Earth. The dark presence in Balian protested and tried to reclaim control, but Balian was not going to let it take away this one chance to free himself.

The others, however, did not trust him. As soon as he lapsed in his advance towards Arwen, Paris took up the sword of Ibelin which Andromache had dropped and charged at Balian. He lashed out with the heavy blade, catching Balian in the side. The pain gave strength to the dark presence and the man whipped around, fury blazing in his hard dark eyes. He roared and attacked Paris. The other Haradrim soldiers rejoined the fight. Imad and Jack leapt into the melee.

Balian panicked as he felt the dark presence gaining strength through anger and hate. The scent and sight of blood only excited the dark presence further. What was he to do now? Barisian was here, and he would never forgive himself if any harm came to his child. Gathering all his determination, Balian once again launched an assault on the dark presence in his mind. He was back in control, but only for a short time. "Free me!" he begged Paris.

"How?" demanded the prince, and then he remembered. Legolas had said that Balian had made a similar request before Osgiliath. _The blade_. 'Gods forgive me,' he thought as he aimed at the other man's vitals.

The dark presence, infuriated by the drastic measures which Balian was taking, pushed aside the man's soul and took over. He parried Paris' blow and disarmed him with one move. Desperate to survive, Paris did the only thing he could think of. He reached forward and dug his hands into Balian's wounded side. The pain paralyzed the man. At that moment, Imad saw his chance to make a decisive move, and he made it, pushing aside all thoughts of friendship and compassion.

His heart bled as he felt his blade pierce skin, flesh and bone.

Balian arched his back and pain. He screamed. The sound reverberated throughout the Citadel. It was a sound of pain, but also of triumph and relief. He was free. At the prospect of death, the dark presence had fled, leaving him to spend his last moments as Balian, the blacksmith from France. He collapsed onto the cold marble. His legs had lost their strength. His weapons fell from his hands and onto the blood-splattered floor with loud metallic clangs. Rivulets of red trickled from the corners of his mouth and stained his pale bloodless lips.

The Haradrim stood still. What were they to do now? Their Lord Commander was dying, and they could hear the Gondorian reinforcements coming this way. Leaderless, they did as their instincts advised; they fled before they could be caught.

Imad sank onto his knees beside his dying friend, staring at his own blood covered hands in horror. "_Allah_," he whispered. "What have I done? What have I done, Balian?"

Balian gave him a weak smile. "Do not blame yourself," he said. His voice was almost inaudible. "You did me a great favour. Thank you, Imad..." The Frank coughed painfully, bringing up more blood. His breaths were short and shallow. He closed his eyes, straining to hold onto the last threads of consciousness.

Barisian scrambled over to his father, slipping and tripping in the blood on the floor. "Papa!" he cried. He was scared. This red stuff wasn't very nice, and there was a lot of it. Why was it coming out of his Papa?

"Barisian..._mon petit..._" said Balian. Part of him didn't want his son to see him like this, but another part desperately wanted to hold his own child again. He held out a trembling hand to the little boy. Tears came to his eyes. "I'm so sorry..." He knew he couldn't stay. His time was limited, but there was so much that he wanted to say; so much that he needed to tell his child, his only child. It was his fault that Barisian was soon to be an orphan. "I love you, Bari...and I...I always will. I hope... you...you will understand this... someday..."

The little boy threw his arms around his father. "Papa, up!" he demanded, tugging at the man's hand. "Up!"

"I'm sorry..." whispered Balian to the frightened child. "I can't..." He wished he could do something to make this less difficult, not only for Barisian, but for everyone involved. The man looked up at the sorrowful faces of his friends who'd now gathered around him. Jack looked utterly perplexed; he didn't know how to react in such a situation. Barbossa was trying to comfort Andromache and Cassandra, with little success. Paris seemed to be in shock. Balian's gaze roamed over them, and finally came to rest on Imad, the man who'd freed him. "Promise me..." he said, fixing his intense stare on the grief-stricken man. "Promise me that Bari will be looked after."

Imad nodded. "I swear," he said softly, squeezing Balian's hand.

"He won't be an orphan," Will said through the lump in his throat. "We'll take care of him. I can promise you that, Balian."

"Aye," said Barbossa softly.

Balian's expression relaxed. He gave a soft contented sigh, and his eyes slowly closed.

"No sleepy, Papa!" said Barisian. His Mama had gone to sleep, and she hadn't woken up again; they'd had to leave her behind. He was so afraid that the same thing was happening to his Papa. He shook the man's shoulder. There was no response. He began to cry. This usually worked, but this time, it didn't.

"Hush, _amir_," said Imad, gathering the little boy into his arms and rocking him as he'd seen Balian do. "Let your father rest. He has suffered enough."

A tearful Cassandra approached the still form of Balian. She knelt beside him, taking in his peaceful expression. It was not fair! He didn't deserve to die. And if it was his time to go, then why couldn't he have waited until she'd apologized for those caustic words which she'd spoken to him in Jerusalem? The Trojan princess leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead. That was when she felt the soft warm brush of living breath.

* * *

**A/N:** Aiee! Don't kill me! Author hides behind barricade Was this unexpected, or did you predict long before I wrote this chapter that I would have something like this happen to that poor innocent blacksmith? I appreciate any feedback :) Till next time!

_Amir_ Arabic for 'prince'


	24. The Greater Prize

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anyone/anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Ranchi Blade: **Thanks for the review. I guess you weren't too shocked then? ;) I do like to put Balian through a lot of grief.

**Smithy: **I'm sorry to say that Gandalf won't be featuring much in this story. But, you'll see what I have planned :) Thanks for the review.

**Chapter 23: The Greater Prize**

The Haradrim camp stretched on like a vast makeshift town, encircling Edoras. Aragorn took in the sight of their numerous dark waving pennants with dismay. Even if the Gondorians combined forces with the Rohirrim, they would still be outnumbered. "Who leads them?" Aragorn asked the scout.

"One Guy de Lusignan, Sire," replied the man. Beside the king, Legolas raised an eyebrow and Gimli fought to keep a straight face. Guy. Neither of them could imagine him as a commander of anything, even though they did know that he'd once been a king, once.

"Guy?" said Achilles. "That's..."

"Yes," said Legolas. "Balian's enemy; the one who cannot fight a battle if his life depended on it. But why is he the one leading this army? Surely Narbazanes cannot possibly believe that Guy can conquer Rohan?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Something odd is going on," he said. Why did he feel as if they'd walked right into a trap? He shook the feeling off. Now was not the time to be pessimistic. Rohan needed their aid, that much was certain, and as the ally of the Horselords, Aragorn knew that he'd done the right thing in coming here, trap or not.

"Orders, milord?" said Achilles.

"Tell the men to make camp," said Aragorn. "We rest tonight. Tomorrow, at dawn, we attack the Haradrim camp. No doubt Edoras will be running low on supplies by now. I intend to break through their barricades and thus relieve the siege."

Gimli nodded enthusiastically. He wanted to test the sharpness of his axe. The proud dwarf hadn't suffered this long ride from Gondor for nothing. It was humiliating having to cling onto Legolas to keep himself from falling off that stupid animal which seemed intent on throwing him.

"By your leave, milord," said Achilles, "I will lead the attack."

"No, laddie," said Gimli. "You're the captain of the Elite Guard. Your duty is to protect the King. I'll lead the attack."

"As captain of the Elite Guard, my duty is to serve the king, and how can I do that when I must remain behind the lines and watch others win the battle?" demanded Achilles.

"By making sure that the lad doesn't do anything stupid and get himself killed," said Gimli.

"Gimli, you worry too much," said Aragorn. "Just because I'm forced to wear a crown on special occasions doesn't mean that I can't look after myself. I have decided. I will lead the attack."

All of them looked at the king. His flinty eyes were hard, and his mouth was set in a grim line. Legolas decided against trying to persuade Aragorn to remain where it was safe. It would be a futile action on his part, and he would much rather not have to argue with the man when he was in a stubborn mood.

* * *

The Houses of Healing were bustling with activity as the wounded were taken in. Healers went from bed to bed, carrying bandages, salves and basins of water, and hurrying to treat the wounds of those who'd been injured during the fighting. Faramir winced, not only because his wound was hurting him, but also because his wife was giving him the most intensive, intimidating and piercing glare he'd ever seen, and he'd seen quite a lot of those in his lifetime.

"Éowyn, it was for Gondor," he said. "As Steward, I am in charge of its defences in the King's absence."

"But did you really have to throw yourself into the middle of the melee? What about that tale I heard about you actually jumping into an enemy siege tower?"

Faramir's brow furrowed. Where had Éowyn heard that? Then he remembered. His wife was friendly with Will's wife, and Will never kept anything from Elizabeth. Why did women like to gossip so much? Éowyn definitely had no need to know about his great feats of insanity.

The faint crying of a child in distress could be heard. They both looked up. Éowyn's eyes suddenly grew watery. She swallowed several times, and then without warning, she threw her arms around Faramir and rested her head on his chest. Surprised, Faramir did the only thing he could think of, which was to put his arms around his wife and hold her against him. "I don't want to lose you like...like that," she whispered. As she said it, she looked over to where all the rest of their close friends had gathered.

Faramir held Éowyn more tightly. He didn't know what to say. For all he knew, he might just end up like that someday. With all this fighting, men were bound to be killed.

"Can you do nothing?" Paris demanded of the head healer. The man glanced at his pale patient, swathed in bandages and completely beyond the world of consciousness.

"I am surprised that he lives," he said. "I can do no more than what I have already done for him. I am but a man, and I have not the skills to give life to one who is dying."

Paris clenched his teeth together. He hated waiting, and he hated standing around and doing nothing while his friends suffered and perished even more. The healer took his leave, and the prince returned to Balian's bedside, where the man lay unmoving. 'If you do not wake up, my brother,' he thought, 'I shall never forgive you.'

* * *

Balian was walking through an endless green field. The sky was clear, and all was peaceful and quiet. The only sound he could hear was the wind rustling through the long grass, creating waves. He let his hands brush over the top of the grass as he marvelled at this beautiful place. As he looked around, his eyes fell on a figure sitting on a log in the middle of the field, twirling a few blades of grass between his fingers. The figure looked up, and Balian's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Boromir?" he said.

"Yes, Balian," said Boromir with a smile. "I have been sent to greet you."

The two men embraced each other like long lost brothers. "It has been too long," said Balian.

"Oh, I think not," said Boromir. "With all those happenings, time must have passed too quickly for you. Did you even have time to think about time passing? You did win the war in Middle Earth, fight another war, go down to Hell, or, the Void, as my ancestors call it, to rescue your first wife, and then go back to your own world, fight a king, and rescue your family, all in the matter of less than two years."

Balian looked confused. How did Boromir know? Seeing his expression, the older man laughed. "I can see everything from here, Balian," he said. Balian looked around, but all he could see was the endless field and the blue sky. "You cannot, Balian, for you are not dead. It is not your time."

"Not dead?" said Balian. "But I..."

"It is all a matter of will," said Boromir. "Would you really leave your son all alone in the world, with only your sword and the memory of your death? Would you really want him to remember you like that? I think not."

"But what choice do I have?" said Balian.

"You can turn back. Unlike many, you have been given this choice, because you have been chosen to bring justice and to keep it. That is your task. My task was done when I finally relinquished my hold on life. Yours is never going to end."

"It sounds like I have no choice at all," said Balian wryly. "But you are right, Boromir. I would never leave Barisian all alone, not if I can do anything about it."

"Give my love to my brother and his wife," said Boromir. "Tell Faramir that I'm proud of him, and that he and his lady wife should think of carrying on the line of the stewards, now that I'm not there to do it."

* * *

Hector paced back and forth on the deck of his ship. He'd just returned and received the news of Balian's fall. "There must be something I can do," he muttered to himself. "Think, Hector, think! What sort of saint are you if you cannot perform a miracle or two?" However, he just couldn't think of anything short of bringing Balian onto his ship and making him one of the crew.

"You are worried, Captain Assaracus," commented Calypso as she stood by the railing of the ship and watched Hector pace.

"Of course I am worried!" said Hector. "My friend is dying!" Then he looked up; Calypso was far from worried. In fact, she was smiling. All of a sudden, the fog in Hector's mind cleared, and he could see a path of hope.

"You know something that I don't," said the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_.

"Of course," said Calypso, playing idly with the many amulets which hung around her neck. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be a goddess."

"Can you save him?"

"He is a Chosen One. He can save himself."

* * *

Balian wandered for a long time, but no matter where he went, all he needed to do was look up and he would find himself in exactly the same field, with Boromir still staring at him. "It's no use!" he cried. "I cannot go back. It would seem that it is God's will that I remain here."

"If you do not try to find a way out soon, you will be trapped here forever, and neither Heaven nor Hell will recognize you," said Boromir. "Do you want that?"

"Of course I don't!" said Balian. He was about to say some more, but he noticed that Boromir was not listening to him. Instead, he looked as if he was watching something happen in the distance. The younger man followed Boromir's gaze. He saw nothing.

Boromir heard the clash of shields and blades as army met army. He turned to Balian, his eyes boring in to the other man. "The fighting has begun," he said. "Good men are dying. Aragorn is in danger."

"But I do not know the way back," said Balian in frustration. "There is no path leading out of this place. I cannot see it. Do you think I don't want to go back?" He was growing more desperate as each moment passed. What if he was trapped here for eternity? He couldn't just abandon his friends.

"You are a man of little faith, Balian," said Boromir. "Why don't you trust yourself? Trust in yourself, and trust Iluvatar. He will guide you."

"I learned not to trust a long time ago," said Balian. "I place my trust only in that which I can see and feel. Yes, Boromir, I am a weak man, and one who is full of doubt. Do you know what I have done? How can I have faith in myself and God when I have done all this?" He held out his hands and then clenched them into fists. "This blood, the blood of good men, will never be washed away. I will carry this burden forever."

"You're not weak, Balian," said Boromir firmly, placing his hands on Balian's shoulders. "You have your weaknesses, but how you overcome them makes you a strong man, or not. If it makes you feel any better, I will tell you now that I have faith in you, my friend. Go. Don't think about everything. Doubt no more. Just trust yourself to be able to find your way back to where you belong."

Balian nodded. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then stepped forward.

* * *

A pale grey morning dawned in Rohan. Aragorn did not feel ready to take on an army much larger than his own, but what choice did he have? By now, Edoras would have been besieged for ten days, maybe more. Their food and projectile stores ought to be running low. The king of Gondor could not just sit around and wait while his allies starved.

He rode at the very front of his army so that the soldiers could see him and be heartened by his presence. The Gondorians formed strict straight lines. They stepped in time with each other, as an army should. Their iron shod feet shook the ground as they marched to their fate, whatever that might be.

The Haradrim were ready and waiting. Guy, seated arrogantly on his black steed, sneered at them as they approached. Gimli almost growled when he saw that man. The dwarf dearly wanted to test the sharpness of his axe on the man's neck. However, he knew that they were in a dangerous position and could not afford to act rashly, so instead, he gripped the handle of his axe more tightly and waited for his chance. Gimli hoped that Legolas would not get to Guy before he could. If the elf did get his hands on the man, there wouldn't be much left for the dwarf.

"Aragorn!" called Guy. "We meet again, _ranger_."

"Is that Guy?" Achilles murmured to Legolas.

"What do you think?" said the elf. His voice sounded like a low growl.

"I'll take that to mean yes."

"Guy de Lusignan," said Aragorn, trying to keep his voice calm and even. He'd suffered enough degradation throughout his lifetime, scorned by all others except by those who'd truly known him. Guy's attempts at insults meant nothing. "I'd always known you were a coward, but I'd never thought that you would be that much of a coward."

Guy bristled at the king's calm comment. Even worse, he could not think of a clever rebuttal. Instead, he laughed mirthlessly, imitating his master. "You cannot, win, Aragorn. Look at my army, and the one coming up from behind you to close you in!"

Aragorn whipped around. Surely enough, there was another Haradrim force. At the lead was a rider in a billowing black cloak. An aura of darkness and power seeme to surround him. Even from this distance, they could feel it. "Narbazanes," whispered the king. It had to be. There was no other possibility.

"Ares give me strength," said Achilles, drawing his sword. He'd fought against greater odds, yes, but this was the first time he'd encountered a magelord.

From Mordor, Narbazanes watched everything happen inside the palantir. His little trick was working better than he'd originally thought it would. Upon seeing the 'magelord', the Gondorians began to panic. Even though they did not move from their position, the men were shifting from side to side and exchanging glances with each other. He smiled. Aragorn would die.

* * *

Andromache was holding Balian's hand, willing him to come back, when she felt his hand twitch. At first, she wasn't certain, but then she felt it again. His eyelids moved ever so slightly, but there was movement. That could only be a good thing. She ran outside to fetch a healer, or anyone, for that matter, and bumped into Faramir.

"Is something wrong?" he demanded. "Is he..."

"He moved," said Andromache, breathless with excitement. "I swear, he moved! I felt his hand twitch."

That was all Faramir needed to hear. He rushed into the sickroom, and sat down beside the bed. "Balian. Hear me, Balian," he said. "You have to come back, my friend. You just have to."

* * *

Balian could hear someone calling him. The voice seemed so far away, but with each step, it drew closer, until he could recognize the speaker. Faramir. He had a message for Faramir. He began to walk faster, and then he broke into a run. He could see his destination now. The path seemed so long; too long. Another voice joined Faramir's. This was high and sweet, and it made his heart clench.

"Barisian," he said. "Barisian!"

* * *

His voice was faint, but it was there. Balian was calling for someone. His son. Barisian rested his tiny hand on his father's open palm. Balian's fingers closed around his child's. His friends, gathered around his bed, held their breath. That was it. He was waking up. Elizabeth wasn't aware of it, but she was clutching the front of Will's shirt very tightly.

"If he wakes up, I'm gonna bring out me rum an' celebrate," Jack whispered.

"Count me in," said Will. It was a miracle.

Paris swore that if Balian lived through this, he would try to make peace with Achilles. It didn't seem any more impossible than Balian waking up, after all the trauma that his body had gone through. 'That should be incentive enough for you, Balian,' he thought. 'I know you want us to be friends.' Well, being friends with Achilles might be taking it a bit too far, but he was willing to not be enemies.

Imad watched the miracle unfold before his eyes. Never had he felt God's presence more keenly than now. He prayed to God that it was not a false and elusive hope. He didn't want to live with his friend's death weighing down on his conscience forever.

Balian's eyes slowly opened. They were unfocused at first, but then they cleared. "A delegation?" he said weakly when he saw his friends. Jack let out a loud whoop and ran off to fetch his rum. Andromache was laughing and crying at the same time. James grinned and went to tell Hector the good news. His captain would want to know.

Barisian threw his arms round his father and placed a wet slobbery kiss on his cheek. He had his papa back. Now, if only he could have his mama as well, then the world would be perfect.

Balian was content, with his son and his friends all gathered around him. He saw Faramir, and then remembered Boromir's words. "Aragorn...danger..." he said.

"Aragorn's in Rohan," said Will.

"Yes...danger...Boromir said..."

"Boromir said that the King is in danger?" said Faramir. Balian gave him a small nod. The Steward grimaced, even though he was elated that Balian had seen his brother. Why couldn't they have just a little bit of peace and stability? And now that the king was in danger, what was he, the Steward, to do about it?

"How many men do we have in Minas Tirith?" he asked, turning around to look at the others.

"Aragorn took most of the cavalry," said Paris, quickly doing some calculations in his head. "That means we have five hundred mounted soldiers, and about one thousand foot soldiers."

"Not soldiers," said Faramir. "Men. Craftsmen, labourers, merchants, refugees; anyone able to bear arms."

Paris tried to remember the numbers but he couldn't. The last census hadn't been the best reading material, and it had been out of date anyway.

"We have enough," cut in Will. "There is still the navy. Many of the men cannot sail. They can take up arms on land."

"Faramir, what are you thinking of?" asked Éowyn.

"If the king is in danger, I must ride to his aid," said the Steward, "but I will not leave Minas Tirith vulnerable to attack. Go. Arm the men. I have declared a state of emergency in the king's name."

"Can you do that?" said Will, who knew a little about such things.

"If I get the queen's seal," said Faramir. He got up, and looked down at Balian who was watching him intently. "Rest well, my friend." Knowing that the man was not happy to be incapacitated when there was a war to be fought, he added "You have done your part. In fact, you have done more than you know. Thank you."

With that, the Steward left to find Arwen to obtain her seal.

* * *

The soldier stopped before the giant doors of the throne room. He really did not relish in this task; telling the magelord bad news usually was not a desired duty. He took a deep breath, and then bowed to Safar, who stood guarding the gates like a loyal lapdog, as always. "I humbly request an audience with the king," he said.

Safar looked him up and down, and then finally nodded at the other two guards who opened the door to let the man in. He stepped as quietly as possible, so as to not risk offending the king.

Narbazanes was not on the throne. Instead, he was staring into a smooth round crystal from which unnatural light shone forth. A frown creased his forehead, and there was dark fury in his eyes. The man quickly prostrated himself. "Your majesty," he said, trying to stop the involuntary trembling. "I...I have news..."

Narbazanes looked up. "Speak," he said.

"The Lord...Lord Commander...he..."

"What has happened to Balian?" demanded Narbazanes. "And may the Gods help you if you come to tell me that he has fallen."

The soldier swallowed. Cold sweat beaded his face. "It is true, milord," he said. That was when he felt pain engulf him, like an all consuming fire. He opened his mouth to scream, but couldn't; the rest of his body had disintegrated into ash. There was no breath left in his lungs because he didn't have lungs anymore.

Narbazanes took a deep breath as the ashes settled. What had been done was done. He'd lost his most valuable asset, and there was nothing he could do about it. "Safar!" he called. The eunuch hurried in. "Clean up this mess. Summon the chieftains. We march on Gondor. This time, I shall raze it to the ground."

* * *

Balian stared at the cup which Elizabeth was carrying. He was wearing a dubious expression. "Come on," urged Elizabeth. "Calypso sent it. You can't refuse a gift of the sea goddess."

"It doesn't smell so good," said the man.

"It's medicine. It's not supposed to be gastronomically pleasant." She put it to his lips. "Will said it would do you a world of good."

The blacksmith took a sip, and immediately gagged. To avoid spitting all over himself and Elizabeth, he swallowed it as quickly as possible. He gasped for breath. It felt like liquid fire running down his throat and into his stomach. The fire quickly spread to his wounds. They burned with greater vengeance than ever before.

"What...is...?" he managed to say, then he doubled up and clutched his wound. Elizabeth looked down in the cup at the murky green liquid, beginning to panic. Had Will somehow made a mistake with this? Balian looked like he was in intense pain.

"Oh dear," she said, setting down the cup and running to fetch help. She crashed into Will. "What has Calypso given him?" she demanded of her husband. "He's in pain, or something!"

"Has he drunken it all?" asked Will.

"Of course not!"

"Make him drink it all. The pain is normal. This is Calypso's version of a healing potion. It hurts like hell, but it works better than anything I've encountered. Trust me; the pain is part of the healing process. The goddess is a bit twisted up here." Will pointed at his temple and rolled his eyes.

"Will, stop it! What if she finds out about it?"

"She won't. We're on land."

* * *

Balian cursed inwardly as the fire spread throughout his body. This was worse than any torture Narbazanes could devise. Why had he let Elizabeth persuade him to drink all of that terrible tasting green liquid? All he could do at the moment was lie there, curled up from the pain. If this was the price of healing quickly, then perhaps he would rather heal slowly.

Jack watched him with pity. "I would not like to trade places with you, mate, for any treasure," he said. It was the pirate's turn to guard the blacksmith. He wondered if he could knock out the man by feeding him rum. That would surely be kinder. However, Balian was in no state to consume anything.

It lasted throughout the night, until agony finally drove him to unconsciousness. The master healer had not been alerted. No one wanted a lecture on the danger of using unknown substances on a wounded man. In the morning, however, Balian was sleeping peacefully. The pain had passed, and he was utterly exhausted by his ordeal.

The healer looked down at the wounded Defender with compassion and pity. It had not been his fault that he'd been possessed by that dark presence, but he had paid the price anyway. He undid the old bandages to change the dressing on the man's wound, and then looked perplexed. The muscles had begun knitting together already, as if a month's worth of healing had occurred overnight.

"Impossible," whispered the healer to himself. It was a miracle. The only explanation was that Iluvatar himself had come down during the night to treat the man. Somehow, he highly doubted it.

* * *

"Achilles!" barked Aragorn. "You take your contingent of elites and deal with the force coming up from behind us. We will spread our lines to make them as long as possible so they don't flank us."

"As you command, milord," said Achilles. He raised his sword to signal to his men; his new Myrmidon. They followed him without delay. No fear showed in their faces. Death to them was just another part of life. They delivered it, and they expected to receive it in turn. Many of them had been men selected out of Gondor's freed prisoners. Others had lost their entire families to the Haradrim raiders. Hatred and anger drove them. They wanted glory and renown. Above all, they wanted revenge for all the innocent blood which had been shed.

"My brothers!" said Achilles. "It has been my life's honour to fight alongside you. No man could have had better comrades! Do not let the world forget that we are men, real men! Now, let us go forth and show those cowards how the men of the west go to death! As fire cannot be extinguished without smoke, neither can we die without taking some of them with us!"

The Myrmidon of Middle Earth roared with approval.

* * *

From his vantage point on the steps of Meduseld, Éomer saw the Gondorian army preparing themselves for a battle of life and death. "Gamling!" he said. "Muster the Rohirrim! The Riders of Rohan will not leave their Gondorian brothers to death!"

"My lord, what are your plans?" asked Gamling. "Even with the Gondorians, we are still outnumbered, and the enemy's flanks are too strong. We cannot hope to defeat them!"

"Their flanks are strong," said Éomer, "but their centre is as weak as an eggshell. All their strength has gone to their wings. We'll do the unexpected and smash their centre. Let's see how they will defeat us then."

"Sire, isn't that dangerous?" said Gamling. Éomer was being unusually bold, even by his standards. King Théoden would never have taken such a risk.

"Gamling, this is war. When is it not dangerous?"

* * *

Legolas' blades were a blur of silver and red as he cut down any enemy who dared to attack him. Gimli's voice could be heard above the din, shouting out numbers. The elf had used up all of his arrows. A horn call made him look towards Edoras, and the sight which he saw made his heart leap. The Rohirrim, led by Éomer in all his glory, were attacking Guy's centre.

The Frenchman was no match for the King of Rohan, and he panicked as Éomer's troops charged towards him. The panic spread through all of the Haradrim, and they began to think that they'd lost the battle when they were in fact winning. Some of them tried to flee, but there were too many men, and a lot of them were trampled, either beneath the feet of their own comrades or the iron hooves of the Rohirrim's horses.

Éomer was gaining on Guy. The former had a murderous gleam in his eyes, and he looked like an eagle closing in on its kill. Guy lost what courage he had and fled from the battlefield. Being Éomer's prey was not an appealing notion.

Achilles' men were on a rampage. They seemed to be bathing themselves in the blood of their enemies as they slashed their way through the other Haradrim force. No one was enthusiastic about fighting the Myrmidon. Who wanted to get killed? Even 'Narbazanes' seemed uncertain as to what he ought to do.

'Why does he not use his powers?' wondered Achilles. 'He was powerful enough to control the minds of men, so why not do that now?' He was drawing closer and closer to the 'magelord'. His shield and sword were covered with a dark net of blood. The Greek gathered all his energy and leapt, sword brandished, aiming for the magelord. The momentum of his jump knocked the man off his horse. They rolled to the ground. The Haradrim drew his curved scimitar and tried to swipe at Achilles' legs. The Greek blocked him. With brute strength, he swept the blade aside and then slammed the edge of his shield against the other man, making him stumble.

The Haradrim tried to attack Achilles again, but each time he tried, he was beaten back. His men were fleeing, believing themselves to have lost, and in a way, they had. Their courage had been broken by Achilles' Myrmidon and their sheer fury. They fought, not because they believed in what they were fighting for but because they had no choice. None of them wanted to risk the outcomes of fighting with men who seemed as if they'd been sent by Iluvatar himself to curb the spread of Narbazanes' power. It seemed safer just to run or surrender.

With one swift move, Achilles cut off his opponent's sword hand. The man screamed as blood spurted from his severed wrist. It was then that the Greek decided that whoever this was, he wasn't Narbazanes. Something was wrong. This was too easy. It was as if this was a diversion, but why did Narbazanes need to divert their attention? Perhaps this wasn't really a diversion at all, but an attempt to lure them out of Minas Tirith in order to get a much greater prize than Rohan. He looked around and saw that the king was in a dire situation. Suddenly, he knew what it was that Narbazanes was after.

Some of the braver Haradrim were still fighting. Most of them had converged on Aragorn. The King of Gondor was a skilled warrior, but it was difficult for any warrior to defend himself against twenty men intent on killing him. For a moment, he faltered. That was all the Haradrim needed. He recognized the Haradrim's word for 'kill' and his own name. The blade fell.

* * *

**A/N: **The evil cliffie is back! Hope you enjoyed this whopper chapter ;)


	25. Besieged On All Fronts

****

Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Ranchi Blade: **Thanks for the review. Balian deserves a break, so I gave him one :P As for your question, 'how many parts will there be' to this story? Well, I have an announcement to make :D **There will be a fourth instalment of the Chance Encounter series. **What is it about? We'll just have to wait and see, won't we? ;)

By the way, thanks to those who pointed out to me that in the last chapter, Legolas was in two places at once. You saved me from a lot of embarrassment.

**Chapter 24: Besieged On All Fronts**

Aragorn followed the falling blade with his eyes, preparing to die there and then. He never felt anything. The impact of a flying spear hitting his chest knocked his attacker a few feet away, and then the Rohirrim were upon Aragorn's attackers. Knowing that they were no match for Rohan's well trained cavalry, the Haradrim retreated. "That was a very good spear throw, if I must say so myself," commented Éomer.

"How is it that you always arrive just in time?" asked Aragorn as he got back to his feet. A Gondorian guard brought him his horse, and he swung into the saddle. In the distance, the Haradrim seemed to be regrouping. They would nurse their wounds for a while, but the siege of Rohan was not over.

"I am Éomer of Rohan," said the younger king. "That is the way I am." He scanned the horizon, marred by the many flags and standards of the Haradrim. "It seems that you and I together are not enough to break the siege."

"I can only hope that we can send out messengers to summon reinforcements," said Aragorn. It was a pity that the Anduin was too narrow up here. If not, he could've found some way to ask for aid from Hector and his crew of undead sailors. Unfortunately, the _Flying Dutchman_ was too big a ship.

Little did he know that reinforcements were on their way to Rohan as he was speaking.

* * *

Faramir glanced at his...odd following. Many of them had been infantry. He'd simply mass-promoted them. Their steeds were the ones which had been overlooked by the cavalry. If they had not been so determined to save their king, the Steward would have been afraid. However, their united goals made them strong, and Faramir was certain that the strength of their courage would be able to overcome whatever the Haradrim and their sorcerer king decided to throw at them. The man beside the steward was awfully quiet and subdued. Faramir deemed him to be no more than a boy, and he silently commended him for his courage.

From beneath her helmet, Éowyn could not help but congratulate herself. Her own husband had not recognized her. She knew he would not have approved if he had known the truth, but she wasn't about to sit in Gondor and wait while her own people were in peril.

* * *

Bahram needed to speak with Balian the Defender. He'd been in Mordor when Xerxes had died. Surely, he would know something about it. However, the young prince did not know how to approach the man. He couldn't just barge into the man's sickroom and demand answers to his questions, could he? Besides, with the Defender so badly injured, he probably would not get very coherent answers.

"Do you want to avenge Xerxes or not?" he asked himself. "Come on, Bahram. He died for you, and you can't even summon the courage to ask about how he died? What sort of brother are you?" He paced outside the houses of healing, debating with himself for a long time. Finally, he made up his mind. Bahram took a deep breath and stepped inside.

"Excuse me," he said to a healer. "I am looking for Balian the Defender. Where might I find him?"

"Are you a friend of his?" asked the healer, looking the youth up and down.

"We have a mutual friend," said Bahram. "I have urgent matters which I need to discuss with him."

The healer seemed to have some doubts, but with so many men guarding the wounded defender, what could one young boy do? He led the youth to Balian's room, and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" came a voice from within. For someone who was supposed to be 'badly injured', Balian sounded very strong.

"Someone to see you, milord," said the healer.

"Send them in," said Balian. The healer opened the door and Bahram stepped in. Balian the Defender sat amongst twisted sheets and wood-shavings. He was carving a little wooden figurine of a horse and rider. He looked up when Bahram came in.

"You are..." he said, frowning. He had no recollection of this boy.

"I am Bahram of Harad, Xerxes' brother," said Bahram. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down in a wooden chair. "I have some questions."

Balian set down his carving and looked down at his hands. He did not answer, but simply nodded. In his mind, he could see it as clearly as if it was happening before him right now.

"How did my brother die, as great a warrior as he was?" demanded Bahram.

"Great warrior he was indeed, and yet, swords cannot defend against treachery," said Balian. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. He looked up and met Bahram's intense gaze. "I wish I could say I had no part in his fall, but that would be a lie."

"What happened? Tell me!" Bahram had clenched his hands into fists. His fingernails dug into his palms. He welcomed the pain.

"Your brother came into Mordor, and all would have gone well if he had not let his love lead him astray," said Balian. He fidgeted, and rubbed his face with his hand.

"Love?" said Bahram. "What are you talking about?"

"Sarvenaz," said Balian flatly.

"Sarvenaz? No, it can't be. She loved my brother," said Bahram. He shook his head. "You must be wrong. Why would she kill him?"

"I know what I saw, Bahram," said Balian. "She made sure I saw it, as a warning."

Bahram gritted his teeth. Now, not only was Narbazanes his target, but he also had to make sure that Sarvenaz paid for her part in his brother's death.

* * *

In the garden, Barisian was content as he played with Astyanax, Andromache, Elizabeth and Willie. Well, almost content. His papa was in bed, and he couldn't play. The little boy didn't understand why. It was day time, and people only stayed in bed during the day when they were sick. His papa was the strongest person in the world. He couldn't get sick.

The child tugged at Elizabeth's hand and then pointed in the direction of the Houses of Healing. "Me see Papa," he said.

"Maybe later, honey," said Elizabeth. "He's sleeping at the moment." She didn't know how wrong she was.

* * *

Balian was just as anxious to get out of the Houses of Healing. He was bored, and with so much going on, he simply could not rest. His friends needed him to be out there in the action, not lying here in bed waiting for news of them. The man feigned sleep until the healer left, and then he looked around to make sure that there was no one watching him. As quietly as he could, he flipped off the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing a little as the movement affected his wound. It was still sore and tender, as was to be expected. This was, after all, only the third day.

He looked around for shoes, and found none. Then he remembered. He'd been wearing clothes given to him by Narbazanes when he'd come to Gondor. No doubt those would have been destroyed, and he was glad, for he did not want anything to remind him of the hell which he'd lived in for the past few weeks.

The Houses of Healing were quiet, as one would expect them to be. He padded through the corridors, his bare feet making no sound on the cold marble floor. From outside, he could hear the voices and laughter of children. It warmed his heart and made him smile. His son was near. The man rounded a corner. There, on the grass, Barisian was running around in the awkward way of little children, lifting his legs high and holding out his arms for balance as he tried to chase Willie. The little boy was giggling as Willie made faces at him.

Balian stayed behind a pillar to watch his child play. He was growing up. Soon, he wouldn't need his father so much anymore, and the man wanted to enjoy his son's childhood while he could. There was a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around. Barbossa stood there, grinning and looking smug, with his arms crossed. "So, Master Balian," he drawled. "You've seen fit to disobey the healers and get out o' bed."

"Captain Barbossa," said Balian. "If you'd been in my place, would you have acted any differently?"

The old pirate laughed. "If I didn't have an angry Mrs. Turner watching me, no," he said.

Angry Mrs. Turner. That did not sound so good. Was Barbossa hinting at something? As if on cue, Elizabeth's voice sounded behind him.

"Balian of Ibelin, what are you doing out here?" she demanded. "You should be in bed!"

"Uh oh," said Barisian. He'd stopped chasing Willie, tired by his exertion. He watched events unfold with interest. The child wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but it almost seemed as if his fearless father was afraid of Auntie Lizzie.

"I..." began Balian, searching his mind for plausible excuses. "I needed some fresh air. After having been trapped for so long..."

"You could've asked for help," said Elizabeth. Her hands were on her hips. She was not impressed. Men. They were like little children sometimes. She was certain that women had been made so that there would be someone to keep the men in check. "What if you fell and hurt yourself again?"

"I'm not that delicate," protested Balian, but Elizabeth wouldn't listen. He was 'persuaded' to go back to his chamber in the Houses of Healing. No amount of scowling at Elizabeth made her change her mind. She simply told him that his scowls were not particularly daunting, which did nothing for his manly pride.

"Can I at least see Barisian?" he asked. Will's wife's expression softened.

"Well, he's been asking to see you," she said. "I don't see why he can't come, seeing as you're awake now."

Moments later, Barisian toddled in. "Papa!" he said, running into his father's open arms and climbing into his lap.

"Oomph," said Balian. "Easy, _mon petit_." He made a face as Barisian bumped the almost-healed wound. "Madame Elizabeth would not be happy if I got hurt again."

Barisian planted a wet kiss on Balian's face, giggling as his father's beard tickled him. "Pwickly," he said, placing two small hands on his father's face.

Balian hugged his son closer and placed a kiss on the top of the boy's head. He smelled of milk and soap. "Yes, it is prickly, _mon petit bonhomme_," he said. "You are a very clever boy." Barisian felt so warm and solid in his arms. He couldn't believe he'd almost left him behind. Being separated from his tiny child was unimaginable. A lump came to his throat even as he thought about it. If he had died, then Barisian would've grown up with nothing but vague memories and his name. He would've forever lived in his father's shadow, but Balian would only have been a distant figure, like the people in history.

"Papa?" said Barisian. He could sense his father's change of mood, and he was confused by it. "What bad?"

"No, nothing," said Balian, forcing himself to push away those pointless and melancholic thoughts. He was alive, and he was with his son. That was all that mattered now. "Everything's fine, _mon petit bonhomme_."

"No wed," agreed Barisian. He believed his father, and the nasty wet red stuff was gone. All was right with his simple world.

* * *

Aragorn and his troops rode into Edoras alongside Éomer's Rohirrim. The people of Edoras greeted them as saviours of Rohan, even though Rohan was not out of danger. In fact, all Aragorn seemed to have succeeded in doing was to put more strain on Edoras' dwindling food supplies. "What now?" he heard Achilles muttering to Legolas.

"Pray that we can send out for reinforcements," replied the elf.

"I don't pray," said the Greek. "I'm a warrior, not a priest."

"Well, you don't say, Laddie," said Gimli. "That was marvellous fighting. How many do you think you got, eh? Legolas here once got sixty-two, a score which I did not agree with, but that held. I would like to see his face if you bet him."

"Score?" said Achilles. "I don't count those who die by my blade. That's morbid."

* * *

Éowyn saw the dark line of Haradrim soldiers on the horizon. Somehow, they had known that Gondor would come, and they were waiting. Their spears glinted dully in the sunlight, like grey steel teeth. Behind this barricade of men and orcs was Edoras. Her brother was there, and so was her king.

Faramir could sense that the young soldier next to him was very tense. He gave the boy a small smile to reassure him. The soldier only looked down, which was odd, but the Steward had more important things to worry about than the less than normal behaviour of a soldier. "Spread out," he commanded his men. "Make our lines as long as theirs. That way, they won't be able to flank us so easily, and have archers at the wings. If they do attempt to flank us, shoot them."

Guy watched the Gondorians organize themselves. This force was bigger than the previous one, and if those inside Edoras decided to come out and help, he was doomed. However, he could not go back to Mordor without even having fought.

Shouts were raised as the two armies prepared for battle. In Edoras, the two kings and their commanders rushed to see what was going on. "It's Faramir!" said Legolas. "He's come with reinforcements! How did he get here so quickly? We only sent out the messenger three days ago."

"I don't know," said Aragorn, "but I will not question our luck. I am just happy that there are reinforcements."

"Not to ruin your mood, Sire," said Achilles, "but if Faramir is here with reinforcements, then who is in Minas Tirith?"

"I don't know," said Aragorn. "The best thing we can do now is to defeat Guy and then return to Minas Tirith as swiftly as possible."

* * *

The two armies faced each other; wall of shields against wall of shields. Men were arranged like pieces on a chessboard, forming straight rows and columns. Tension filled the air. Each side was waiting for the other to charge; no one wanted to make the first move. It was the Gondorians who first tired of this inaction and launched an offensive. Seeing that their enemy's centre was just as strong as their flanks, if not more so, Faramir sent troops to flank Guy's army while he and the main force of properly trained soldiers held back, waiting for Guy to take the bait. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Guy leapt for it, doing everything that Faramir had hoped he would do.

He sent his troops to the flanks to aid his men against the Gondorians, leaving his centre vulnerable and open to attack. The Steward of Gondor took this opportunity and charged at the enemy's exposed centre, just as a flood of Gondorian and Rohirrim warriors rushed out of Edoras to join the battle.

Attacked on two fronts, and with his troops in complete disarray, even Guy could see that he was losing, and unlike last time, he could not run. This time, Éomer was not about to let his quarry escape, and to make matters worse, Gimli seemed intent on getting Guy as well. The two warriors converged on the Frenchman. His horse was cut down from beneath him and Éomer grabbed the former king with a gloved hand just as the animal toppled over.

Éowyn cut down enemies left and right; her blade was merciless. She pushed her womanly compassion to the back of her mind. Her country, her people and those whom she loved were at stake, and the Shieldmaiden was willing to risk everything to protect them. She did not seek glory and renown in battle; that was behind her now. Instead, she focused on keeping an eye on Faramir, guarding his back and making sure that he did not come to harm or get himself killed. Men were liable to do that. Faramir, meanwhile, was unaware of this. He was trying to get to Aragorn, not that the king was actually in need of aid.

Achilles and his Myrmidon were once again on a rampage, leaving a trail of blood and death behind them. They made straight for the main Haradrim contingent .The men moved as one, advancing like a thrown spear, cutting through enemy ranks. There was no stopping this war machine of flesh and steel.

Within an hour, the battle was over, with the West once again emerging as the victor, despite all odds. Gimli was gleefully restraining a struggling and very frightening Guy. "We all get what we deserve in the end, laddie," said the dwarf. "There's no escaping that."

"I must say, you and Éomer are the winters of this round," said Legolas to Gimli as he cleaned his bloodied blades with one of the Haradrim standards. "You caught Guy."

"So you finally admit defeat," said Gimli. "Never expected you to concede so quickly, but you managed to surprise me as always, you pointy-eared elvish princeling."

"You won this round," said Legolas, "but overall, I am still the winner."

"Maybe you should get Balian to judge again..." Éomer began, but his voice trailed off as he remembered what the man in question had become.

"Mahal's anvil," said Gimli with a sigh. "I do miss that wee lad."

"Which 'wee lad' are we talking about?" said Faramir, joining in.

"Balian, of course," said Legolas. His heart was heavy. Faramir raised an eyebrow at that tone.

"Wee lad?" he said. "The man's got his own son. By the way, I have forgotten to tell you, seeing as we were fighting a battle, but we've gotten Balian back; the real Balian."

"How?" demanded Legolas.

Faramir grimaced as he remembered the sight of the dying man with blood flowing freely from his broken body. It had been utterly heart-wrenching when little Barisian had tried to coax his father to get up. "The blade," he said. "May the Valar bless Imad. That man has a strong will."

"Eru," whispered Legolas in chock. Balian, dead? And at Imad's hand?

"May he rest in peace," said Éomer. Silently, he bid his friend farewell.

"Rest in peace?" said Faramir. He knew what they were thinking. "I think not. If I know Balian, which I'm sure I do, he'll be complaining that he's bored with staying in bed by now, and that he is feeling perfectly hale. Hopefully, Éowyn is keeping him in check. I love the man like a brother, but I know how impossible he can be."

"You mean he's alive?" said Gimli, not daring to believe what he'd just heard. "And he's back to normal?"

"Yes, he's alive," said Faramir with a smile. "He was the one who told me that the King was in danger, because Boromir told him."

"Bless the laddie," said Gimli, grinning. "And he saw Boromir too."

"I guess everything is fine then," said Achilles. He was covered in blood —not his— and rather pleased with the outcome. He'd actually put his skill at battle to good use, for a change. This was the first time he'd fought a war for someone other than himself, and he felt as if he'd been remade.

"My Lord Steward," said the captain of what had formerly been known as the Gondorian Elite Guard, "there is one young warrior who has caught my attention. With your permission, I would like to recruit him into the ranks of the Myrmidon."

"He must be very good then, if he can elicit praise from you, Achilles," said Faramir. "Name him, and I will ask the King to promote him here and now."

"I can't name him, but he's over there." Achilles pointed at the young Gondorian soldier who had seemed very nervous right before the battle. Even now, he stood alone; a silent figure on the battlefield. Faramir sent for him, and brought him before Aragorn.

"Take off your helmet, so I may know the face of the one who has impressed even the lord of the Myrmidon," said the king kindly.

"I think it would be better if I remained unknown," said the soldier. His voice was soft and young, and it seemed strangely familiar, but no one recognized it.

"That is an odd reply," said Aragorn. "Is it not the desire of every young warrior to gain renown and glory, and to carve his name forever in the annals of history? Take off your helmet, please. I insist, for you have kindled my curiosity. If it is not glory and renown which you desire, then what do you fight for?" The soldier looked and sounded young, but Aragorn sensed there was deep wisdom hidden inside him.

The soldier reached up. His hands were very slender, and did not look like those of a fighting man at all. As he removed his helmet, long golden hair, mussed from being trapped under that piece of metallic headgear, tumbled down. There was a collective gasp. Éomer rolled his eyes.

"I fight for my people and for those whom I love," said Éowyn with a smile on her lips. "There was a time when I would have died for glory and renown, but now I've found something better, and I would much rather fight for him." Her gaze met Faramir's. The Steward was speechless. His own wife. She'd been there all the time, and he hadn't recognized her. What sort of husband was he? With the gift of hindsight, he suddenly realized how easily she could've been hurt, or worse, killed.

Achilles' shock had robbed him of his power of speech. A warrior lady. Yes, he'd known that Éowyn could fight. She'd been the one teaching Briseis how to use a sword. However, he had never thought that he would actually see her in action. If she'd been a man, she would have made a formidable general. He would not want to be her enemy.

"Dear sister," said Éomer, embracing Éowyn. "I see that the wedded life has not tamed your spirit. Then again, I wouldn't expect anything less, considering what you did at the Pelennor Fields and that business with the Witch King."

"Well," said Aragorn, who had finally recovered from this most unexpected surprise, although why he had not suspected it, he would never know. "Now that all confusion has been dispersed, I have a feeling that I ought to be going back to Gondor. I don't believe that the Royal Gondorian Naval Pirate Fleet should be left unsupervised."

* * *

In his room in the Houses of Healing, Balian heard shouts coming from outside. "What's happening?" he demanded of a young healer.

"I'm not sure, sir," he replied. "Would you like me to go and find out?"

"Yes," said Balian. "And do it quickly, please."

The young healer bowed. Balian tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee. He hated not knowing what was going on, especially since Minas Tirith was very empty at the moment, with most of its forces in Rohan. Moments later, the healer ran back in. His face was flushed and he was breathing harshly. "The Haradrim are at the walls," he panted. "They're going to besiege the city!"

Balian threw off the covers, not caring if he tore the healing tissues of his wound or not. "Get me up," he commanded. "And find my sword!" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and searched for his boots.

"My lord, you're not well enough," protested the healer. He fell silent when Balian fixed him with a glare.

"I shall decide whether I am well enough or not," said Balian.

"You will do no such thing," came the authoritative voice of a lady. The healer bowed.

"Your highness," he said. Arwen stood at the doorway, a majestic presence to behold. Her belly was just starting to round, and she had the commanding presence which only a mother could have.

"Lady Arwen," said Balian. "Gondor is in peril. Do not expect me to lie here and do nothing while my friends bleed and die. Let me redeem myself." There was an underlying pleading tone to his voice, and he meant every word. However, that seemed to have no impact on Arwen. She was much too old and wise to fall for such things.

"How can you redeem yourself if you put all our efforts to waste and get yourself killed?" said the queen. "Gondor will be defended. Do you think you are the only one who knows how to defend a city, Balian? Do not forget, there are other men here."

Balian winced at his own arrogance. Of course, Will, Jack, Imad, Paris and Barbossa were still in Minas Tirith, not to mention Hector was just outside. "So you promise that you will stay here?" said Arwen.

"Yes," said Balian.

"See that you do, Defender." She gently tilted his head up so that she could stare directly into his eyes. "I know you are anxious to help, but know that while the time will come when you can redeem yourself, it is not now."

"I need to do something, milady," he said. "It's just..."

"Well, if you insist," said Arwen, "you may help with the grinding up of herbs for healing salves."

* * *

Jack was becoming less and less amused. There was a huge army with large catapults and siege towers coming towards them, and he had no place to run to. Why did Gondor not have cannons? As the army drew closer, he swore he could almost feel the foundations of the city shake with the pounding of the enemy's iron-shod feet.

"Whelp!" he said. "You're the Admiral! What are we gonna do?"

"You're asking me?" said Will, looking at the advancing Haradrim armies with a daunted expression. "Why, I have absolutely no idea! I've never been besieged before! Captain Barbossa! You're the one who's usually doing the besieging! What do you suggest?"

"I be runnin' out o' good ideas at the moment," said Barbossa, lowering his telescope. Even the sarcastic old pirate was looking grim. "Without cannons, I can do nuthin'. Master Norrington, you be the military man. What say ye?"

"I'm a naval man," said James. Besides, he had never dealt with siege towers and battering rams and catapults before. If it had been modern warfare, then he might have been able to deal with it, but he knew nothing about medieval style weaponry. He was just as lost as the rest of them. "What about you, Imad? You've besieged cities."

"Yes," said the Arab, "but I've never actually done the planning. Paris? Do you know anything about defending? Your city was besieged."

"Hardly," said the prince. "Agamemnon forgot his machinery. I am _not_ going to lead the defences, and I am definitely not sending men to their deaths with my incompetence. Would that Hector could come on land..."

"Someone's got to know something!" said Elizabeth. "Oh, to hell with it. Load the catapults! Ragetti, Pintel! Tell the men to get ready to fire, on my signal!"

All eyes turned to Elizabeth. How did she know anything about siege warfare? "And someone go get Balian because I have no idea what I'm doing!" she snapped.

Will was somewhat relieved to hear that. He would have been rather frightened if his wife had all of a sudden turned into an expert of medieval warfare. "Right," he said. "The queen told him to stay in bed and out of trouble, but I'm sure he won't mind disobeying her." With that, he ran off for the Houses of Healing. Gondor needed the Defender.

—

**A/N: **Next chapter—Hero showdown! I love those. :P Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

_**Stay tuned...**_

A MYTH WHICH SURPASSES MEMORY AND TIME...

_In the dark bowels of the Papal palace in Rome, a cardinal is reading an old scroll._

A TREASURE WHICH HAS DISAPPEARED INTO HISTORY...

**Balian: **Charlemagne destroyed the Irminsul over four hundred years ago.

**Legolas: **If he's destroyed it, then why is someone convinced that you know where it is?

A CLASH OF TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT WORLDS...

_Legolas peers out from beneath a hood at the Colosseum. Gimli hides behind him and tries to remain unnoticed. _

AN AGENDA WHICH THREATENS THE SOVEREIGNTY OF NATIONS...

**Cardinal Ambrosius de Magio:** The Irminsul shall be mine, and no bastard blacksmith from France can do anything about it.

A NET OF TREACHERY AND DECEIT...

_Barisian is screaming as someone carries him off. _

_Jack grabs Will by the shoulder. _

_Elizabeth is holding a monk hostage. _

_Paris rescues scrolls from a burning monastery. _

A GROUP OF COMRADES AGAINST THE ROMAN CHURCH...

_Gimli dispatches a Templar. _

_Jack steals golden chalices from the altar. _

_Barbossa dusts his hands as a chapel explodes._

_Anna-Maria is dressed up as a nun. _

_Achilles winces as he examines a scene of the crucifixion. _

AND A MAN, MARKED BY GOD...

_Close up of Balian's hand opening, to reveal his palm where there is a burn mark in the shape of a cross. _

ALLEGIANCES WILL BE TESTED

_Balian is talking urgently with Philippe Auguste, King of France. _

_Legolas pushes Barisian behind him and points his drawn bow at an unknown aggressor. _

_Jack clutches a small chest. _

**Balian:** Marc, take Barisian to England. He'll be safe there.

DANGERS WILL BE REVEALED

_Barisian panics and runs into the forest. There are inquisitors on his trail, and his guardian, Marc, is nowhere to be seen. _

_  
Balian falls to his knees. _

_A group of inquisitors ride through a village on their way towards a stone castle, trampling anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way. _

_People scream and run as their homes are burnt down. _

_Villagers try to fight off the Inquisitors. _

_Jack shoots an Inquisitor and blows on his pistol. _

__

_**From the author of **_**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**_** comes**_

_**Chance Encounter: Legacy of the Third Age**_


	26. Expect the Unexpected

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Ranchi Blade: **Eowyn is an amazing character. She's been surprising everyone lately, including me.

**Maristelle: **I'm glad the news of a new story brought a smile to your lips. Suffice to say I have been planning it for a while. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm only borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Announcement: **For those of you who are interested in _Kingdom of Heaven _and/or would like to find out more about Balian and his world, there is a competition being held at **community . livejournal . com / koh(underscore)fanfiction / **(remove the spaces; the link is on my profile page). I would love for as many people to participate as possible. It doesn't matter whether you have written for the fandom or not; you can still nominate, read, and vote for stories. I'm calling for nominations at the moment. Details can be found at the site. You don't need a LiveJournal account to participate. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me.

**Chapter 25: Expect the Unexpected **

Will ran through the corridors of the Houses of Healing, dodging healers carrying trays with jars of salves and other patients who were wandering around. Balian's room was empty. Will slammed his fist into his thigh in frustration. Where could he have gone? He turned around and rushed back out, colliding with Ioreth, the old woman who worked in the Houses of Healing. "Do you know where Balian is?" he asked.

"Balian?" said the old woman with a frown, trying to put a face to the name.

"The Defender," said Will impatiently. Realization dawned on the old woman's face.

"Ah," she said. "He was in the medicine room, the last I saw, grinding herbs." Grinding herbs? That was a complete waste of the man's talent, in Will's opinion, but he had no time to voice his thoughts. Minas Tirith was under attack, and he needed to find the man who would lead them in defending the city.

Balian was exactly where Ioreth said he would be. He was putting all his strength into his work, crushing the plant material as if it was the enemy. "Balian!" said Will. "Come quickly! The enemy is advancing on us, and we need you!"

The man looked up. "Truly?" he said. "What does the queen say?"

"I don't know, and I don't have the time to ask," said Will. Balian dropped his mortar and pestle and the two men rushed to find his armour and weapons, all the while hoping that they would not bump into the queen of Gondor. The woman might be the loveliest being in all of Middle Earth, but she could also be the most stubborn.

* * *

Elizabeth ordered her men to fire volley after volley at the enemy. Most of them were ill aimed, and missed their targets completely. Rocks and dust showered down on them as the missiles of the enemy smashed the rock of the wall, sending it flying in every direction. The siege towers, looming like the necks of dark leviathans of leather and metal, were drawing close; too close. Where was her husband, and where was Balian?

"Lizzie!" came Jack's call. "What are we gonna do to those towers?"

"Don't ask me, Jack!" she shouted. "It's your turn to think of ideas!"

"Runnin' isn't exactly an option at the moment!" retorted the pirate as he fired on the enemy with his pistol. He was running dangerously low on powder. Did Gondor have an extra store of gunpowder? Jack highly doubted it. After all, what use was gunpowder to people who did not have artillery?

"No, no," said Imad to the archers. "Don't shoot the siege towers! Aim for the men pushing them!" At least he knew _that_ much when it came to defending.

"How's everything going?" came a shout. Will. He was back, and with him, the knight in shining armour.

"The Defender's here!" said Ragetti in excitement. He was hoping that there would be another mass knighting. The pirate wouldn't mind being a knight.

"Everything's going dismally badly," said Jack. "Them towers are gettin' close, an' we're runnin' out o' ammunition."

"They're still out of range," said Balian. "Don't mind the towers for the moment. Take out their catapults. Without them, they cannot bombard us."

"Right," said Imad. His eyes gleamed. Everything was back to normal. In fact, everything was better than normal. For once, he wasn't fighting against a friend.

The word was spread. The men at the trebuchets turned their attention to the enemy's catapults. The Defender's presence on the wall renewed their morale and gave them hope. Hadn't he held off the forces of Mordor that other time? They trusted that he would do the same this time, conveniently forgetting that last time, the only reason Minas Tirith was not taken was because the Rohirrim had come and Mithrandir had been there.

The sound of rocks hitting rock and smashing wood drowned out the voices of men. Below them, the Haradrim troops were rushing forward with ladders. Balian ordered the archers to fire down on them.

No matter how many the Gondorians felled, the Haradrim just kept on coming. They knew they could not stop or turn back; their master was watching. Death by a Gondorian arrow was better than death at the hands of Narbazanes.

The first of the Haradrim attackers climbed onto the walls of Minas Tirith, bringing with them one of their standards. The Gondorians launched themselves at the Haradrim, but more were already swarming up the ladders. Rocks fell, smashing parts of the wall, and crushing men. Arrows were exchanged. Soon, the white stone of the wall was slick with blood, both Haradrim and Gondorian. Death did not discriminate.

Bahram was at the periphery of the battle. He knew he couldn't fight very well, and moreover, these were his own people. How could he forgive himself if he harmed them? His father had taught him well; his people were the source of his power. Without them, he was nothing, royalty or not. But they had turned against him and killed his brother. Didn't that warrant punishment? 'It's not their fault,' said a voice in his head. It sounded like his father. However, how was he to get back his rightful inheritance if he couldn't even bring himself to do what was necessary.

"For Xerxes," he said, taking a deep breath and then throwing himself into the melee. Someone quickly threw him back out.

"Ye would do well to stay _alive_," said Barbossa, employing both his pistol and his cutlass. Someone made the mistake of trying to attack the old pirate from behind. Jack the monkey saw it, and as small as he was, he was not about to let his master come to harm. The animal leapt onto Barbossa's would-be attacker, clawing and screeching. The man fell back, screaming. He tried fatuously to pull the monkey from his face, but Jack was determined not to let go until he had finished punishing this insolent man.

Balian was in the middle of the struggle, despite having strict orders from Elizabeth not to overexert himself. He saw the standard, and if he did not do anything about it, that one simple flag could easily be the downfall of Gondor. Standing proud and defiant upon Minas Tirith's walls, it could give hope to their enemies while crushing the Gondorians' morale. Balian could not let that happen.

With no thought for his own safety, he pushed through the surging mass of struggling men, cutting down any enemy who dared to get in his way. His only thought was on that standard.

"Will!" he shouted, catching his friend's attention. "I'm going to take down that standard."

"I'll come with you and guard your back," said Will as he dispatched an enemy by feigning defeat and then running his enemy through while the man was gleefully distracted.

Balian had somehow obtained a double-bladed battle axe, and he was swinging it like a madman, with no skill or grace to mention. However, Will could say that while he looked utterly ridiculous, he was effective and deadly in his usual way, and the blacksmith managed to take out anyone who tried to get in his way. If Gimli could see him now, the dwarf would surely be groaning at the criminal misuse of an axe. Will was no expert on axes, but he thought it was a rather fine specimen of one, most probably of Haradrim make.

The enemy was guarding their standard as if it was their source of life. One man held it upright on the battlements of Minas Tirith whilst six others formed a circle around him, facing outwards, blades and spears at the ready. More and more men were coming to their aid, encouraged by this one small success.

'It's just a little flag,' thought Will, 'and yet, it makes all the difference in the world.' That was what he was feeling like at the moment. He was someone inconsequential in Middle Earth, and yet, the task of defending Minas Tirith and indeed, Gondor, rested on his shoulders and those of his friends, now that the king was off fighting in Rohan and unable to defend his country himself.

Balian reached the Haradrim guarding the standard first. He ploughed into their midst. The shock of seeing their former Lord Commander fighting against them rendered them immobile for just a very brief moment, which allowed Balian to take down one of them before they all fell on him.

Will started panicking when he found himself separated from his injured friend. Balian could not possibly cope with so many men attacking him at once, could he? The former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ did not really want to find out. He launched himself at the nearest Haradrim and bodily hauled him off Balian. He threw the man aside, inadvertently shoving him off the edge of the wall. The man's blood-curdling screams were cut off as he landed on a stone-paved street with a sickening crunch.

Will had not time to care; he reached down and pulled Balian to his feet, all the while fending off other attackers who thought he would be easy prey. The older man had sustained a scalp wound and blood was trickling down the side of his face, but he seemed lucid and alert enough.

The two friends battled back to back, performing a deadly duet. Their blades flashed in the grey light. Step by step, they drew closer and closer to the Haradrim standard until it was within Balian's reach. The blacksmith drew out his sword, having lost his axe, and slashed at the back of the standard-bearer's legs. His blade bit into the tendons, cutting through them, and thus crippling the man. The standard-bearer fell, but he stubbornly refused to let the standard fall with him. Balian was both impressed and exasperated. Would that he could've been friends with this man instead of being his enemy. He drove the hilt of his sword into the man's temple, and, as the standard-bearer reeled from the blow, Balian wrested the standard from his hands and threw it off the wall.

Narbazanes saw the flag fall, and he also saw the man who had thrown it. The Magelord could hardly believe what he was seeing, but there was no reason to doubt it. The last time he had checked, his vision had been fine. Standing tall and defiant on the battlements of Minas Tirith was Balian. "Impossible," whispered the king of the Haradrim. How could the man have thrown off his spell? There was only one way, and that was through death. However, Balian of Ibelin looked very much alive, if a bit battered.

The magelord smiled grimly and gave a small nod, acknowledging defeat in that aspect of his plan. It mattered not. The Gondorians were hopelessly outnumbered, and it was becoming more and more obvious that they were unprepared for the siege. All he needed to do was to surround Minas Tirith with his armies, maintain the siege for a few days, and the city would capitulate, driven into submission by hunger and disease. Balian or no Balian, nothing was going to stop Narbazanes from claiming Minas Tirith as his own.

* * *

From some distance away, out of the range of the eyesight of Men, Legolas' keen ears picked up the sounds of a great battle. The elf shielded his eyes with a long slender hand and gazed ahead, searching for the source. "What do you see?" asked Gimli from behind him. Legolas did not answer. There, in the east, plumes of smoke were rising from the position where Minas Tirith ought to be. The battle had started without them. The prince of Greenwood could feel in his heart that this would be the battle which would decide the outcome of the war.

"Estel, hurry!" said the elf. "Our enemies have besieged Minas Tirith!"

"So soon?' said Éomer, who was riding with the Gondorians and a contingent of elite Rohirrim cavalry.

"Now I understand," said Aragorn, feeling annoyed with himself. No wonder he had felt as if he had walked into a trap. He should have listened to his instincts. "Everything else had been a diversion, to lure the army away. I should not have underestimated Narbazanes." Now, because of his error of judgement, his wife and the people of Minas Tirith were in danger. The king could not help but blame himself. If only he had stayed behind. If only he had planned adequately for a siege. If only...

"Estel, you must not blame yourself," said Legolas, who knew what Aragorn was thinking. "You are not Narbazanes, nor are you in anyway similar to him. How could you have predicted that he would do this?"

"What orders, milord?" asked Achilles. His heart was beating wildly, and an alien feeling filled him. In all his life, he had never felt such acute fear, no so much uncertainty. Briseis was in Minas Tirith. If the city fell, she would... The captain of the Myrmidon silently berated himself and tried to push these morbid thoughts out of his head. No, he would not think about that. He could not; Briseis was his salvation. If he lost her...Gods...

"We ride for Minas Tirith with all haste," said Aragorn. "I do not care if we ride our horses to the ground." With that, he drove his heels into his mount's flanks.

For the first time in his life, Achilles found that he was praying. His prayer was not directed at any specific deity, but he hoped that whoever heard him would help him. He needed divine aid.

* * *

Ring upon ring of enemy soldiers surrounded an increasingly battered Minas Tirith. The defenders were still retaliating with everything that they had, but they were quickly running out of ammunition, and men. Instead of simply using uncut rock, they now used rubble from the walls as projectiles against Narbazanes' armies.

"We cannot get through that," said Faramir.

"It seems like he has emptied all of Mordor and Harad," said Éomer.

"Well, if he has emptied his lands," said Éowyn, "then they will be vulnerable to attack." She turned to Aragorn. "Sire, we should do the unexpected and take his headquarters. Let us see how he deals with that." All the men looked at her; most of them were impressed, and Faramir was almost bursting with pride. His wife had been full of surprises lately, and he rather liked it.

"Attack Mordor?" said Achilles, glancing at the high rocky cliffs which made the Dark Land a natural fortress. It seemed even more impossible than breaking the siege of Minas Tirith.

"It would be better than trying to attack the heart of Harad," said Legolas. "We would die of thirst before we even reached it. Remember the battle at Hattin which Guy lost?"

"Legolas is right," said Faramir. "Harad is dry barren desert. It would be better to attack Mordor. It is difficult, but not impossible, even if it has not been attempted since the days of Isildur." He kept watching the king; his less-than-conventional liege lord seemed to be getting ideas. The Steward could recognize that look on Aragorn's face.

"I know a way into Mordor," said Aragorn.

"So be it," said Legolas with a vicious grin on his face. "We attack the heart of Narbazanes' power. Despite all his cunning, he would not have predicted that."

"Well," muttered Gimli as they turned their horses towards the Dark Land. "I'm not sure I want to know how the lad came to know about a way into Mordor."

"But I think you will find out about it anyway, my friend," said Legolas.

* * *

Ragetti was not liking the look of this. Yes, he had been in battles before, and bad ones too, but this one was by far the worst. There was no supernatural help, they had no place to run, and they were hopelessly outnumbered. However, he could see Elizabeth and Anna-Maria fighting, and his conscience would never let him forgive himself should he desert his comrades, to use that term rather loosely. There was only one solution. The pirate left the battle and went to gather all the vagabonds which he had met during his time in Gondor. They were the most dishonourable people he knew, but they would do anything for a bit o' gold, and the king could afford to pay them, couldn't he?

* * *

Jack brought the handle of his pistol down hard on someone's unprotected head. "Sorry, mate!" he said, and then turned around to engage someone else in a fight. This was really getting out of hand. As far as the pirate captain could see, there was no hope, at least not in the vicinity of this city. It was a pity that the chest of cursed Aztec gold was not here. That would have been useful.

"Jack, have you seen Will?" demanded Elizabeth over the din of battle. She ducked a wide swipe of a sword and then gutted the man who had made the swipe. "You should've gotten lessons," she told the corpse.

"Can't say I have," said Jack unhelpfully. He did, however, see Gibbs loading a large barrel of some alcoholic beverage onto a catapult and then setting the barrel on fire. The flaming projectile was then thrown into the enemy's midst before it exploded. If Gibbs was willingly burning alcohol, then things must be getting very desperate indeed. For a brief moment, Jack wondered if he had hidden his rum securely enough.

Elizabeth bit back an anxious remark. Where was her husband? She didn't know what she would do if she lost him again. 'He'll be all right, Elizabeth Swann-Turner. Stop your fretting,' she told herself, mentally adopting the stern tone which she often employed when her son had misbehaved. 'You need to concentrate on what you're doing right now.' She put all the force of her fear behind her blows, determined to stay alive for her family. It would not exactly be helpful if her family survived and she died just because she was worried about them. Besides, worrying was not going to help anyone.

* * *

Inside the city, Paris and a dozen soldiers were storming every tavern and house of ill-repute, seizing all the alcohol that was available in Minas Tirith. "It's a state of emergency!" said the prince when the owners of these enterprises protested. "Consider this your contribution to the war effort."

Every citizen, or almost every citizen, was trying to help. Merchants took stock of supplies and donated stores from their warehouses. Housewives went to the barracks and assumed the position of army cooks so that the cooks could go out to fight. Children became messengers, and old women used all their skill and strength to tend to the injured fighters. No one wanted to be ruled by Narbazanes. His reputation had spread, becoming more and more warped with each retelling of gruesome, and more often than not, fictional stories.

* * *

Aragorn's idea of a 'way' into Mordor consisted of a narrow and treacherous ravine. The allied forces of Gondor and Rohan had wrapped their horses' hooves in sacking to muffle the sound of iron horseshoes hitting stone. High black cliff-faces rose on either side of t hem, leaving only a thin line of pale grey sky. Legolas fought to control his growing fear. In this small enclosed space, his vision was limited. He could feel traces of lingering evil in the rocks. It was so silent, and dead. Not even a weed or a thorn bush had deigned to set root in this barren place.

Gimli knew that the elf was uncomfortable. It wasn't so hard to tell. He knew Legolas, and Legolas needed wide open spaces or vibrant green forests. The dwarf gave his friend a comforting squeeze on the arm. Legolas glanced back at him. "It's going to be fine, laddie," said the dwarf in his low rumbling voice. "Trust in Hope."

"I wish I had your faith, my friend," said Legolas, "but this place robs me of hope."

"That's just your imagination going wild," said Gimli. "You elves are always thinking too much. Just as well I'm here, or you'll probably bolt off like some silly spooked horse."

* * *

Sarvenaz sat before her mirror, tilting her head this way and that way. Was it just the light, or were there shadows beneath her eyes? She was getting old, and she knew it. If she wasn't careful, she could so easily be replaced by one of those younger giggling concubines. Narbazanes' current favourite was not going to let anyone usurp her place. Taking the stopper out of one of the jars of face paint, she dabbed a bit of paint beneath her eyes and smoothed it into her skin with her fingers. There. She would look every part the Lady of Middle Earth when her husband returned victorious.

The many candles in her bedchamber cast a warm golden glow on her skin. She pouted at the mirror, trying out as many seductive expressions as she could think of. Ever since she had entered the harem, her husband had not strayed from her side, except for a few occasions. She intended to keep it that way.

Shouts came from outside. She ignored them; there was always something going on. The commanders and generals would deal with it, or so she thought. She almost knocked over all her jars of face paints when her maid burst in without knocking, gasping for breath. "M...milady...the Gondorians..." said the terrified girl.

"Has the king returned?" demanded Sarvenaz, forgetting to be angry with her servant.

"No," said the girl. "The Gondorians and the Rohirrim are here!"

"Gods," said Sarvenaz. This was not possible. How did they get here? Had the Gondorian and Rohirrim armies grown wings?

"Quickly, milady!" said the maid. "You must run!"

Sarvenaz ran out of her chamber, only to see Gondorian soldiers running up the steps, sealing every exit. She found herself face to face with a golden-haired warrior, arrayed in browns and greens, with blue eyes as hard as the jewels which they resembled. Behind him was a stunted creature with masses of red hair. The Haradrim woman thought quickly. Years of practise and instinct took over. She smiled at him, and curtseyed, the way she had been taught when she had only been a child. As she curtseyed, she reached for one of the daggers hidden in her sleeves.

Legolas was not sure what to think. He'd come in, expecting to find soldiers, instead, he found a lady. What was he to do? Killing helpless women was not what he had been brought up to do. When she curtseyed, his training took over and he almost bowed, but then he remembered that he had come here as a conqueror, not a courtier.

Gimli felt that there was something wrong with that woman. There was something in her eyes which made him uneasy. As Legolas stepped towards her, she suddenly lunged at the elf, brandishing a dagger. The dwarf gave an enraged roar, and rushed between his friend and danger with almost unearthly speed.

Sarvenaz's breath was driven from her lungs as she was knocked backwards by what felt like a charging mountain. Immediately, she felt the cold edge of a blade against her throat. "Lock her away," said a rough voice.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the lack of a trailer this weekend. I'm in the middle of exams and I didn't get the time to make one.


	27. The Turn of the Tide

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 26: The Turn of the Tide**

Achilles had never seen anything quite like Mordor. It had looked ominous enough from the outside, but inside, it was even more intimidating; the land was rent with bottomless chasms. The molten rock had cooled now, but the Greek could easily imagine this place as it had been when liquid fire had flowed all over the land instead of water, not that there was much water in Mordor at the moment. The more he saw of Mordor, the more his respect for Frodo and Sam grew. How could those two little hobbits have survived in this place, especially with enemies all around them?

Tall structures of stone, some of which were only half-finished, dotted this barren place, jutting out like sharp black teeth. There was no beauty in them, but they were a blatant display of power on Narbazanes' part. They did not look so impressive, now that there was no one guarding them. Ashes and dust were everywhere, getting into their clothes, their eyes. Achilles and his Myrmidon navigated their way around deep rocky pits, some of which still housed giant dog-like creatures with coarse fur and large yellow teeth. Faramir had called them 'wargs'.

Far away, they heard Gimli's voice. The dwarf seemed to be berating someone. "...is there anything between those pointed ears of yours, princeling?" Achilles raised an eyebrow. That sounded...interesting. There was no doubt as to the identity of the person being lectured by Gimli. 'Pointed ears' was quite a big clue. There was only one person whom the Greek knew to have pointed ears, besides the Queen. "You could have been killed! I definitely don't want to tell Aragorn if you had been felled by a Haradrim witch." That piqued his interest. Legolas had almost been killed by a Haradrim witch? For certain, there had to be an entertaining story behind all of this, and he knew that the dwarf would be telling everyone rather soon.

The captain of the Myrmidon pitied Legolas. He would not want to swap places with Legolas, not for all the treasures in the world.

* * *

The sun rose behind plumes of rising smoke from the Haradrim's campfires. The enemy soldiers still surrounded Gondor, and they did not seem as if they were about to leave anytime soon. Balian groaned as he levered himself up, using his sword as extra support. Sleeping in armour was definitely not the most comfortable experience. His muscles were stiff from so much fighting and the bad sleeping position. He flexed them, trying to relieve the tension; it did no good. His stomach growled. The man tried to ignore that. The stew had been growing thinner and thinner with each passing day. Soon, they would be filling their bellies with nothing but water. How could a starving civilian army fight properly? His gaze settled on the high dark impenetrable walls of Mordor. How to defeat them? They were so strong.

A flag waved proudly on top of the Black Gates. At first, he took no notice of it, but then, he saw that there was something not quite normal about it. It seemed too pale...

"Sir?" came a young voice. Balian looked down. Young Willie Turner stood there, holding a bowl of steaming, if watery, stew. The boy offered the bowl to Balian. "Mama said you should eat something, or she was going to use a funnel to force the stew down your throat." The man took the bowl with a nod of thanks. He cradled it in his hands, sipping slowly from it and taking care not to scald his tongue.

"Do you have your spyglass, Willie?" he asked.

"Of course," said the boy. "I don't go nowhere without it. The Cap'n said that a pirate should be prepared for all eventitu—tuti— whatever that word is." The boy pulled out his spyglass and handed it over to the man.

"And Barbossa is right," said Balian, setting down his bowl of stew on the wall. "We must be prepared for all eventualities." He put the spyglass to his eye, remembering that the bigger lens was the one which he should aim at the object which he wanted to look at in more detail. The man 

trained the spyglass on the flag. Indeed, his eyes had not fooled him. The flag was much paler, and embroidered on it with silver thread was a tree with seven stars above it.

* * *

Narbazanes cursed. How? How was this possible? He had not been able to take Minas Tirith, and yet Elessar had walked into Mordor as if on a whim. His base was gone; he had no place to return to except the barren plains of Harad, which had more sand than grass. No one else knew it, but his supplies were running low. It would take too long to get supplies from Harad, and his prestige had fallen with Mordor. Those chieftains in Harad had never truly submitted to him. Why would they support him now that his power was waning? They changed allegiances as often as they changed their wives.

There was only one choice; he had to take Minas Tirith. He was going to launch a siege so spectacular that Middle Earth would not have seen the likes of it before. 'Let us see how well you defend, Balian the Defender,' he thought. If the man had not resisted so strongly, Minas Tirith might have been in his hands long ago. Balian would pay.

* * *

Aragorn stood on the Black Gates and gazed out across to Minas Tirith. He had never seen his city in this perspective before. Even from here, he could see the smoke, although not the extent of the damage. How was Arwen coping? His friends? And how was he supposed to break the siege?

"Estel?" said Legolas.

"I need to free my city, Legolas," said the King. "They are not well supplied. By now, they must be running low on food and water."

"And ammunition too, I should think," grumbled Gimli. He leaned on his axe, looking pensive. The armies of Narbazanes were like an impenetrable thicket of iron thorns. Not even an army of Mumakil, with their thick hides, would be able to break through their ranks.

Legolas was surprised that Gimli had not told everyone about his embarrassing close encounter with death yet, and at the hands of that vixen too. What would his father have done if he had died? Would Thranduil have felt shame? Or would he have forgotten for once that he was a king, and simply grieved? Legolas did not know. For certain, he would have felt ashamed if he had died by that woman's blade. In fact, he did not want answers to those questions. Let them remain mysteries for eternity.

"The Haradrim are not united," said Faramir. "They only fight because they are afraid of Narbazanes, and they have no one to turn to. The men whom I have spoken to seemed quite ready to change their allegiances."

"Then we'll give them someone to turn to," said Éomer. "Aragorn, you are becoming rather well-known as a kind and benevolent king. Let them know that if they surrender now, they will be free to go back to their homeland and raise Mumakil or do whatever it is that they do in Harad."

"How do we tell enemy soldiers that?" said Faramir. "They're more likely to spear us than to speak with us."

"Arrows," said Legolas, wanting to make himself useful. If Gimli wanted to laugh at him, then the dwarf would do so while knowing that his elvish friend had done something much more useful than just provide him with a joke. "We tie messages, written in their tongue, to arrows, and then at night, we shoot these messages into their camp. We'll say that we are fighting to return Harad to its rightful king, and if they surrender, not only are they free to return to their homes, but Harad and Gondor will also be allies after the rightful king is back on his throne. We'll talk about establishing trade with them, give them an irresistible offer."

"That seems like a very risky promise," said Éomer. "What if the 'rightful' king of Harad decides to invade us again? We will have achieved nothing."

"Éomer, I know he won't," said Legolas. "The rightful king is Bahram, and as everyone knows, he and Princess Cassandra are very much in love. Cassandra is Paris' sister. She will keep him in check. Besides, after all that we've done for Bahram, I doubt that he will turn against us."

"It's worth a try," said Gimli. "Perhaps this plan would work better than letting this pointy-eared elvish princeling try and capture Haradrim ladies."

"What's this about Haradrim ladies?" said Aragorn. Gimli began to chortle, and Legolas felt his face growing hot.

"Well, laddie, our friend Legolas here had a most unfortunate encounter with one of the Haradrim king's consorts..."

Several pairs of eyes turned to Legolas, and the elven prince wished that he was anywhere but here; even Dol Guldur was preferable. Valinor had never seemed so appealing before.

* * *

She had always been a thinker. Ever since she had been a small girl she had planned her future. Living in a patched up tent and scavenging leftovers from other people's hearths had taught her to prepare for every possibility. As a child, Sarvenaz had come to realize that power was the only thing that could prevent her from going hungry ever again. However, she had not predicted that she would end up here, sitting in a dark musty cell, waiting for death. She was not satisfied.

At least it was quiet in here, even if it did lack the comforts which she had grown used to. She shifted her position; her body was stiff from sitting on the hard stone floor. It was uneven, and she could feel every bump. Images came unbidden to her mind. She saw the face of Atarxerxes, probably the only person in the world who had ever truly cared about her. His spectral eyes bored into her, accusing her, condemning her; they held smouldering anger within them. "There are only two types of people in the world, Atarxerxes," she said softly. "Those who are too weak to survive, and those who strive to live by any means. The former are killed, and the latter— they're the ones who do the killing. The world's too small for all of us."

She laughed. There was no humour in her laugher. Apparently, she had not killed enough. Perhaps she should have killed Balian when she had had the chance. Deep in her heart, she had always known that he was too strong for their otherworldly tricks. She did not understand people like him. Did they not know how dangerous it was to love, and to rely on others? Personal advancement came at the price of betrayal. She was a prime example of that. And yet, where had that gotten her? It seemed that the world was completely unfair. Fools like Balian and Elessar found fame and fortune, while people like her struggled and strived, only to fail in the very end.

'_You could have lived a peaceful life,_' said a voice. She looked around. There was no one in the cell with her, but she had distinctly heard someone speaking. The voice sounded male, like Atarxerxes. '_I gave you a chance. You threw it into the desert wind. You reap what you sow, Sarvenaz; that is the way of the world_.'

"Xerxes?" she whispered, getting onto her hands and knees. It was very dark. The tiny flame of the lone candle cast ominous shadows everywhere. She fancied she could see the silhouettes of all the people she had killed, both directly and indirectly. "Atarxerxes? Get away from me, you wraiths! You are nothing but spectres, shadows of men who once lived. You cannot harm me!"

'_We've come to escort you to where you belong_,' said Xerxes. '_Our bodies might be dead and mutilated, but love and hate transcend death. Did you not know that, Sarvenaz, as wise as you thought you were?_' The spectres seemed to draw in closer, trapping her. They reached out with insubstantial fingers, clawing at her clothes, her hair. She felt as if she was being drowned in their anger.

'_Come with us, my dear_,' said Xerxes. '_The world is too small to tolerate the likes of you._' She heard his laughter, hollow and cold, like the rumbling of thunder after lightning had struck and decimated the crops which the peasants had worked so hard to cultivate. When had he turned so cruel? She felt his arms wrapping around her like iron manacles, squeezing her, making it difficult for her to breathe.

Sarvenaz let go of all her pride. She screamed. The sound resonated throughout the corridors of the dungeons, but no one came to her aid. The slumbering guard at the door opened one eye. He snorted, turned over, and fell asleep again.

* * *

Jack ducked and just managed to avoid getting his eye skewered by an arrow. "Damn you Hardy Men to hell!" hollered the pirate as he plucked an arrow out of his hat. "You shot me hat! No one shoots me hat and gets away wiv it!" If anyone heard him, they did not show it. Not so far away, Elizabeth and the soldiers under her command were pouring boiling water down on the unfortunates below. Some of the more fiery women had followed her lead and had taken up arms. Screams rose and steam broiled as the attackers were scalded.

"I wish we had oil," muttered Elizabeth. Anna-Maria raised an eyebrow. Fried Haradrim were not what she considered to be a delicacy, but if she got any hungrier, she might just try it, perhaps, maybe.

Paris put an arrow to his bow and then released it, all the while thinking about their dwindling number of arrows. Burning arrows worked well, but it was very wasteful, using them all the time. The Haradrim returned the volley. Arrows clattered on stone and shields. Men cried out in pain as some hit their mark.

Balian was at the very edge of the battlements, cutting down attacker as they clambered up the ladder below him. His clothes had been dyed red by blood; both his own and that of his enemies. His yet-unhealed stab wound was bleeding again as his wild movements tore the tender flesh. He felt his strength waning, but he knew he could not fall. His men, the Queen, the people of Minas Tirith; they depended on him to lead them through this. 'Come on, Aragorn,' he thought. 'You've taken Mordor, now do something else, and do it quickly!'

* * *

Night fell. Behind the smoke, the stars were faint. The moon hid its face behind a veil of grey cloud, as if it was a demure maiden. Legolas rejoiced in the lack of light. This was perfect for sneaking up on the enemy. He made no noise as he crept towards the Haradrim camp.

Achilles followed the elf. The ground was cool and damp. The man tried to keep his breathing calm and even. As captain of the Myrmidon, he could not show any sign of nervousness. His men looked to him. It was his duty to encourage them and give them strength.

Legolas raised a hand, signalling for the men to halt. The Haradrim camp was within the range of their bows.

* * *

The Haradrim sentry could see nothing, nor did he expect to see anything. Who would be foolish enough to attack such a large army? Where there was a lack of quality, numbers almost made up for it; numbers, and a fear of the consequences should they fail. There came a whistling noise, seemingly from the east. The man had no time to ponder this as arrows fell into their midst. One narrowly missed his head. The alarm was raised. "We're under attack!" someone shouted. "To arms! To arms!"

Soldiers rushed to ready their horses. Narbazanes came out, not wearing any armour. There had been no time to strap the cumbersome pieces to his body. "The arrows came from the east, milord," said Safar.

"Elessar," hissed the Magelord. The King of Gondor was becoming too bold, and he would surely pay for his boldness. Wait. Something was not quite right. He could neither see nor hear any sign of an enemy force. There had not been another volley of arrows either. This was odd, very odd.

"Return to your posts," said the King of Harad. "This is a trick; an attempt to lure us out. I will not fall for it." With that, he returned to his tent, believing that he had thwarted the Gondorians' plan. After all, had he not used the same trick on numerous occasions?

A young soldier was returning to his position near the horses' pickets. Something snapped beneath his foot. It was a Gondorian arrow. There was a piece of thin parchment tied to it. Was it a message? Why would the Gondorians be sending them messages? Curiosity got the better of him. He untied the parchment and unfolded it.

* * *

He dreamed of war; of acrid smoke coming from burning flesh and of the screams of men as they were consumed by flames. He was there, in the middle of all of it, and he was alone, seemingly surrounded by enemies. No matter how hard he tried, Narbazanes could not summon his otherworldly abilities to aid him. He was too far away from his artefacts, and he had drained the power from most of them anyway.

"Milord!"

The King of Harad opened his eyes. The smoke and the screams had not been part of the dream after all. In fact, they were real. "What is going on?" he demanded.

"The troops have mutinied," said Safar. The eunuch was trembling, either from fear of his master or of the furious masses; even he was not sure of what he feared more. He did know, however, that he hated being the harbinger of bad news.

"They dare to turn against me?" said Narbazanes. He got up from his sleeping pallet and strode to the entrance of his tent. "They will know the meaning of fear."

Outside, a few hundred of the Magelord's most loyal guards were doing battle with the other soldiers, but as they were outnumbered, they were losing. The men, usually timid and subdued, were extraordinarily violent, driven on by the hope of a future under a just king and with no war. The Gondorians had guaranteed that there would be no enmity between the two peoples. The Westerners' only grudge was against Narbazanes the Usurper; they understood that. The Gondorians' message had broken down the dam which had held their resentment in, and tonight, it poured out like a flood, threatening to drown those who had subordinated them.

In the face of such united anger, Narbazanes felt a jolt of fear shoot through him. If it had been only a few hundred men, or even a few thousand, he could have easily suppressed the mutiny. However, this was an uprising of close to one hundred thousand armed men. If fear could not contain them, then nothing could. He was surrounded; there was no gap, no place for him to run to. All the power in the world could not save him, for how could he survive the power of many hearts united in one common goal? Power was arbitrary, assigned to a king by his people. Looking at all the hostile faces, the Magelord realized that he was no longer king.

The call was raised. The troops were baying for blood; for royal blood. "Take his head to the Gondorians!" someone shouted.

"No! Capture him alive and take him to the Gondorians. We don't want his ghost haunting us after he's dead." There was a chorus of agreement.

"Let the Gondorians kill him!"

* * *

"Sir!"

Balian was pulled from his musings. A young soldier, barely half his age, was pointing at something. He went to get a better look. Below him, all he could see were the lights coming from fires in the Haradrim camp. He narrowed his eyes.

"The Haradrim are fighting each other!" cried the boy.

'Why are they doing that?' wondered Balian. He knew the Haradrim. Christ, he had helped to train this army. They were fearful, but disciplined. Brawling was unheard of, and mutiny did not even enter these men's wildest dreams. What was going on? Why was there a complete breakdown of military order amongst their previously formidable enemies?

"What do you think, Balian?" said Paris. "Should we ride out and crush them."

"No," said James Norrington. "This could be some trick to get us to open the gates. If we do ride out, they might just take the chance to rush in and claim the city."

"They're gonna take the city anyway," said Jack. "Starvin' armies are easy to deal wif, mate."

"I believe we should be careful," said Will. "Narbazanes is a wily old fox."

"We do not act until morning," said Balian at last. "It is too dark to see clearly. If this is indeed a trap, we should be able to tell once day dawns."

* * *

_**Stay tuned...**_

A COLLOSAL POWER...

_Zoom out from a grand gothic cathedral with flying buttresses and magnificent stained glass windows. _

_A procession of cardinals is making its way down the centre of the church. _

SEEKING A LOST TREASURE...

_Black and white shot of a Roman soldier unsheathing a sword and engaging the barbarians of the Saxon tribes in battle._

_Black and white shot of a man writing busily in a small room, lit by only one candle. _

_Black and white shot of a cloaked figure running through a forest._

_Balian, Legolas, Paris, Will and Jack bend over an old map, discussing something. _

A SECRET WORTH DYING FOR...

_Balian fights Inquisitors. _

_Achilles sneaks up behind a cloaked figure and slits his throat. _

_A terrified Jack, swinging from a rope which is hanging from the high rafters of a cathedral, smashes a magnificent stained glass window. _

_Jack the monkey becomes skeletal in the moonlight. He screeches. _

**Barbossa: **I'll not be tradin' anythin' for it.

QUALITY WILL BE TESTED...

_Cardinal Ambrosius de Magio stands in the rain, raising his hands to the sky. He is laughing madly. _

_Jack gets into fighting position in front of Barisian. They are surrounded. _

_Balian pushes through a crowd desperately, shouting something._

_Someone peers out from underneath a hood and sneers. _

**Balian: **_(holding two pistols and pointing them at someone)_ In your dreams, Your Excellency.

**Jack: **_(peering around) _I think he is dreamin', mate.

**Barisian: **_(standing with feet firmly planted and hands on hips) _I _is_ arguing the point, savvy?

ALLEGIANCES WILL BE MADE...

_Philippe Auguste, King of France, talks with Ambrosius de Magio._

_Legolas addresses druids in the forest. _

_Will plays Liar's Dice with a Norwegian sailor. _

_**From the author of the **_**Chance Encounter**_** series and **_**Prelude to Heaven**

_**comes**_

**Chance Encounter: Legacy of the Third Age**

**COMING SOON**

* * *

**A/N:** Well, all the threads are being wound up and twisted together. I'm working on a video trailer at the moment. Will probably post that next week. Till then!


	28. Defeat and Victory

**Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm only borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 27: Defeat and Victory**

Blue eyes peered out into the darkness. Legolas smiled in satisfaction as he saw the chaos in the Haradrim camp. His plan was working; their enemies were turning on one another. 'You did not think of that, did you, Narbazanes?' he thought. Those who smiled first were not always the ones who smiled last.

"Do you see anything, Legolas?" said Achilles. The elf gave the Greek an amused look.

"Where do you want me to start, Achilles of Epirus?" asked Legolas.

"You know, lad," said Gimli to the slightly taken aback Greek. "Despite all appearances, that pointy-eared princeling is not mad."

"Thank you for your support, friend Gimli," said Legolas. "The Haradrim are fighting each other. It is to dark to see who is winning, but I am willing to bet that it is not Narbazanes."

Gimli clapped the elf on the back, almost causing the unsuspecting prince to lose his balance. "You're on, laddie," said the dwarf with a wicked grin. "How much are you betting?"

"Gimli, are you sure you haven't been drinking?" said Legolas.

"There is not enough alcohol in Mordor to make a dwarf drunk," said Achilles. "He has just been around Jack Sparrow for too long." The Greek warrior was barely suppressing a laugh. "Savvy?"

"What is it with that pirate and corrupting everything which I hold dear?' muttered Legolas, but he too was smiling. How could he not be glad? The end was in sight, and victory was almost within their grasp. "Where is the King?"

"Aragorn is resting," said Gimli with an emphasis on the last word. "He had better be. I made him."

"What makes you think I would obey you, dwarf lord or not?" Aragorn strode towards them, fully armoured. "I hear that our plan is working," he said, staring westward towards Gondor. Even thought he could not see anything, his hopes and his imagination conjured up images of victory and of being reunited with his beloved wife.

"I hope it's working," said Gimli.

"Should we ride out, Sire?" said Achilles.

"No, let us wait until dawn," said Aragorn. "This may yet be some trick to lull us into a false sense of security and by that way bypass our defences. If the situation has not changed by the time morning comes, we will discuss our next plan of action."

* * *

The sky was set ablaze by the rays of the rising sun. Hues of red stained the clouds like bloodstains after a battle. Will had not seen such a brilliant sunrise for a very long time. The cool morning air was tainted with smoke and the metallic tang of old blood. 'Blood already stains the sky, but the battle is yet to be won,' he thought as he pulled out his spyglass to better see the situation in the Haradrim camp.

The bodies of men pushed and heaved against one another as two groups struggled for dominance. One surrounded the other. Weapons, darkened by dirt and blood, glinted dully in the morning sun. It seemed as if the Haradrim were really fighting one another instead of putting on a show for the Gondorians and their allies. The young Admiral lowered his spyglass, and ducked just 

in time to avoid an arrow. He gave a cry of alarm, expecting another assault on the walls, but no other arrows followed that one.

"Will!" came Elizabeth's panicked shout. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Will called to put her fears to rest. He combed the place, searching for that one arrow. His intuition was telling him that this was important. However, it was almost impossible to find one arrow amongst so many others on the battlements. They all looked the same to him. Perhaps experienced archers like Legolas knew how to identify one arrow from another, but Will was only familiar with swords and guns. Then, something caught his attention. It was a piece of parchment, tied to an arrow. Could this be it? He untied the parchment and opened it up. On it was a message. However, it made as much sense to him as Jack's drunken speeches did. 'It's probably in the Haradrim tongue,' he thought. Who could translate it? Faramir could, but Faramir was not here. He could not simply just ask for a translator; this might be something very secret which the general population of Minas Tirith should not know. The Admiral went to find Balian, and showed the older man the message.

* * *

Balian stared at the piece of parchment, turning it around in every direction. For all he knew, he could have been looking at it upside down. "It could be secret, you say?" he said. Will nodded. Balian looked at the piece of parchment and sighed. There is only one way to do it." The two went up to the Citadel. Moments later, they came back down, feeling a bit guilty. After all, they had left a very annoyed Paris in the library with the piece of parchment and a very heavy dictionary.

* * *

Paris, Prince of Troy, did not know what he had done to give the impression that he was a scribe and a scholar. Yes, he had spent more time in the library than all of the others put together, but that did not mean anything, did it? After all, Balian had spent more time in the Houses of Healing than all of them put together, and yet no one had mistaken him for a healer. Besides, most of the others either found reading a waste of time, or they did not have the time, or they just simply couldn't read.

After what seemed like an eternity, he put down his quill and flexed his ink-stained hand to relieve the cramps. This was a plausible translation, or so he thought. "Don't blame me if it's inaccurate," he muttered. He blew on his writing to dry the ink, and then strode out of the library. He found Will and Jack waiting at the entrance. The former had the decency to look sheepish as Paris thrust the translation at him. "You owe me for this," said the prince, glowering at his friend.

"Rum?" said Jack, offering Paris his dirt encrusted bottle. Rum was the solution to every problem, wasn't it?

* * *

Aragorn, Éomer, and their motley group of advisors were inside his tent discussing their next move. Maps were strewn haphazardly across every surface. A soldier pushed aside the tent flaps. "Sire," he said. "There is a Haradrim rider outside. It seems that he requests an audience with you."

The King of Gondor looked at his companions, who were all wearing expressions of varying levels of doubt. He knew what they were thinking; he was worried too. What if it was only a show? Narbazanes was a master of trickery. Nothing was as it seemed when it came to dealing with the Magelord.

"Is it safe, milord?" said Achilles, fingering his sword.

"It's one rider," said Legolas, looking thoughtful.

"It could be an ambush," Faramir pointed out.

"I can't ignore this man, in case he is genuine," said Aragorn.

"I know," said Faramir. "That's why I think I should go out and meet him. They do not know what you look like, and to them, one man of the West is not so different from another. If he is sincere, then I will bring him in to meet with you. If not..." he left the sentence unfinished. All of them knew what would happen if the Haradrim was not sincere about wanting to see the King. Éowyn gripped Faramir's arm tightly.

"I'll go with you," she said.

"No!" said the Steward. "You cannot. It is too dangerous!"

"If it is not too dangerous for you then it is not too dangerous for me!" Éowyn let her eyes roam over her husband's face. "I can't lose you," she whispered.

"Éowyn, I..." said Faramir. He did not want to lose her to a stray Haradrim arrow or a piece of remorseless metal either.

"Sister, he does have reason," said Éomer. "It won't do any good if something happens to both of you."

"Lady Éowyn," said Achilles. "I will go with Lord Faramir. Should anything happen, I will get him back to you."

"And hopefully, you won't be shot," said Legolas to the Greek.

"Paris isn't here," said Achilles. "I won't get shot."

* * *

Balian sat in a plush chair in the counsel room, reading Paris' translation over and over again, looking for a sign of some trick. He could find none. If the prince's work was accurate, then this was a genuine request for help. The language was blunt and straightforward.

"Why didn't you get Bahram to read it?" grumbled Paris.

"I didn't want to overexcite him," said Balian. "In his state, he would probably rush out without discerning whether this was real or not."

"Well, is it real?" demanded Will.

"I think it is," said Balian.

"We cannot tarry any longer," said Imad. "If they are our allies, they might lose spirit due to our delay. I say we ride out."

"Aye!" said Jack. "You should ride out. I volunteer to remain behind an' guard the city."

"If only Hector was near," said Paris. "Then we could have asked him to fire on the enemy before we got to this point."

"We need him to patrol the seas the keep the pirates away, present company not included," said Elizabeth.

Balian stood up. "I have decided," he said. "We ride out."

* * *

The Black Gates opened with a groan. Faramir and Achilles rode out. The latter kept a tight grip on the hilt of his sword; he wasn't sure he trusted the Haradrim, but this meeting was very important. Did the man of Harad who now waited for them suspect that there was something amiss with this 'king' of Gondor? Faramir was wearing both the royal robes and the crown; he did look regal, but was he regal enough? As noble as Faramir was, he simply did not exude the same aura of wisdom and authority as Aragorn did.

"You're the King of Gondor, yes?" said the emissary from Harad in his own native language. Faramir did not respond. Instead, he gazed steadily at the Haradrim emissary and concentrated on looking royal.

The other man, taking Faramir's silence as agreement, ploughed on. "We need your help. The men of Harad have rebelled, but we cannot defeat Narbazanes on our own. The Magelord is too powerful. We have already sent a message asking the men of Minas Tirith for help, but they haven't replied. We're in a really bad situation."

'They probably haven't responded because they do not understand the tongue of the Haradrim,' thought Faramir. Knowing Balian, he probably would have thought that the message was secret, and he would not have trusted the usual translator. What could he have done with such a message? There was no time to wonder how his friends would deal with strange, potentially important messages in unknown languages.

"What do you ask of us?" asked Faramir. The emissary urged his horse forward.

"Send your armies and finish Narbazanes, Elessar," he said. The Steward deemed that this man was not a diplomat. He spoke like a common soldier and was as tactless as Jack Sparrow.

Faramir nodded. "Come in. We shall discuss this further."

The Haradrim emissary followed Faramir and Achilles into Mordor. The Gondorian soldiers looked at them all oddly, and some of them were obviously wary of the Haradrim. However, he was in the company of the captain of the Myrmidon and the Steward with the King's crown, so he could not really be a threat, could he? Some of them whispered amongst themselves. What was going on? Was the King actually negotiating with the Haradrim? And why was the Steward playing dress-up with the King's clothes?

Faramir led the emissary into the King's tent, where Aragorn, Éomer and the rest of their companions were waiting for them. "My lord," said Faramir, bowing to the king. He took off the crown and handed it back to Aragorn.

"You...you tricked me!" said the man from Harad. He was sputtering with rage. "I came with good intentions and you tricked me!"

"I never said I was King Elessar," said Faramir. "You just assumed I was."

The emissary opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. Now that he thought about it carefully, he could not deny that he had made many assumptions.

"I apologize for our trickery," said Aragorn in the tongue of Harad which he had learnt during the days when he had been known as Thorongil, Captain of Gondor. "After everything that has happened, I did not know whether you had been set by Narbazanes to lure us out or not."

"Are men of the West always so suspicious?" asked the Haradrim.

"Indeed, I would not know, for I have not met all the men who dwell west of Mordor," said Aragorn. "However, I do believe that in Harad, there are also men who are just as suspicious." He poured a cup of wine from a decanter on a side table and then handed the cup to the Haradrim, who was taken aback by this gesture. Never in his life would he have thought that he would be personally offered a drink by a king. Much appeased, the emissary accepted the cup.

"Please, sit," said Faramir, indicating a chair.

"You will send aid, won't you?" said the emissary. "My people are dying, and I haven't seen my wife for a very long time...pardon me, that isn't what I should be talking about, but I do want to go home, and so do my brothers in arms. We're sick of all this death and this stupid war. With all the men gone, the crops are going to waste. We had some pretty good harvests, but our stores are being used up. Big armies need a lot of food. If someone doesn't go back to take care of the crops, our children and our women will starve."

Aragorn looked at Faramir. They both knew that Aragorn had to give an answer now, or the chance would pass them by. The King nodded. "Yes," he said. "I will ride out to meet Narbazanes."

Gimli chose this moment to clear his throat loudly. "Lads, it's all very well that you can talk away in this strange tongue, but have some pity for those of us who haven't understood a single word which you've uttered," said the dwarf.

* * *

Bahram's heartbeat sounded like the hooves of a hundred charging warhorses to him. Frustration kept him warm. Why had Balian strictly forbidden him from riding out with the army? He did not have any right, did he? Yes, Balian the Defender was, at the moment, the highest ranking military commander in Minas Tirith, but Bahram was a prince of Harad, the heir to the Haradrim throne. He had thought that would have put him out of Balian's jurisdiction, but apparently he was wrong. Balian had forbidden him from even leaving the Citadel, and he had assigned guards to make sure that Bahram obeyed his order.

No argument from the young prince could sway the Defender's decision. He had firmly told Bahram that he needed to be kept alive, as if he was some exotic and delicate flower and not a son of the royal house of Harad. The humiliation had fuelled great rage in the youth. He wanted to fight. He wanted revenge. And like any young man, Bahram was eager to prove his manhood in this battle which would decide the fate of his nation.

He slapped his palm against a polished wooden tabletop, causing the vase on the table to topple over from the impact.

"Bahram, what's the matter?" asked Cassandra. She had come to find him after Andromache had hinted to her that he was not in a very good mood.

"Damn the Defender!" he snarled.

"What makes you say that?" asked Cassandra, being careful not to reveal whose side she was on. What had Balian done to make Bahram so angry?

The prince poured out everything to her. She listened, always reminding herself that this was Bahram's version of events and therefore it was most probably biased.

"I see why you're angry," she said at last. "He's only doing what he thinks is right, and Balian is a very stubborn man."

"What is right about keeping me locked up in the Citadel and not letting me fight my own wars?" said Bahram.

"Can you actually fight a man?" said Cassandra.

Bahram looked at his hands, with their long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. These were the hands of someone who had lived his entire life in luxury, not the hands of a warrior. He remembered the hands of his brother. Xerxes' hands had been hard and calloused from holding and wielding a weapon all the time. There had often been dirt ingrained into the cracks in his skin. However, he did not want to admit that he had been a fool.

"If he won't let me prove myself, I will never become a man," he protested.

"Whoever said that a man had to know how to kill?" said Cassandra. "Yes, it maybe something which most men do, but a man's task is to provide for his family, not hang heads up on the wall. Look at Paris. He still can't wield a weapon properly, except for a bow, but I believe he is a brave man, despite everything that he's done in the past. He faced his fears, swallowed his pride, admitted to his faults, and did everything in his power to correct the wrongs which he had committed. _That_ is courage. _That_ is what makes a man. Don't let false glory seduce you. There is no glory in war. Believe me, I know it very well."

"So, you won't think any less of me because I can't fight?" said Bahram.

"Of course not," said Cassandra. Bahram put an arm around her and she tentatively laid her head on his shoulder. "However, I will think you are an idiot if you throw a tantrum just because Balian didn't let you fight."

* * *

Balian could see the chaos of the Haradrim's camp. The tents were burning. Men were rushing around everywhere, seemingly in confusion. Smoke stung the eyes of the Gondorians as they approached. There was something unnatural about the smoke, something which made men feel uneasy. Balian recognized it as being tainted with the vapours which he had been forced to inhale when he had been Narbazanes' captive. How to defeat such dark and unnatural power? That was a problem which no one had addressed. The Magelord had a tendency to turn men's worst fears against them, and Balian knew that better than most. However, he knew he had to face the man who had almost destroyed him. Out of all of Narbazanes' enemies, he was the one man who knew the Magelord the best. 'God help me,' he prayed.

* * *

Through the haze of smoke, Narbazanes saw something which made his blood grow cold. Gondorian standards. So the Gondorians had come to take advantage of this situation. His power was almost drained; destroying a few hundred men took a lot of energy, and he'd even used up most of the artefacts which he had brought with him. How could he deal with more enemies when he had not been able to vanquish the original ones?

"Narbazanes!" There, bearing down on him and brandishing a bared blade, was his former Lord Commander, and one of the more difficult men to deal with. The Magelord could sense the cold righteous fury which was emanating on him, and for a moment, he thought he saw a light behind the man, as if he had the blessings of all the gods. The light appeared only briefly, and it faded away. The Magelord was certain that it was only his vision playing tricks on him.

"So you have escaped death, Balian of Ibelin," said Narbazanes. "Somehow I expected that." In his hand, he held the last artefact which he had brought. It was not so much of an artefact than something completely ordinary with something not so ordinary added to it.

Balian noticed the dagger which Narbazanes was clutching. He would not have put it past the Magelord to have poisoned the blade. "I do not die that easily," said Balian. "Or have you not heard the stories? Give up, Narbazanes. Your cause is lost. Your people have turned against you."

"Maybe I have lost," said Narbazanes, "but you will not have victory." With that, the Magelord lunged at Balian. The force knocked the man out of his saddle. The two men tumbled to the ground in a heap. Balian had dropped the sword of Ibelin, and being a man of honour, he did not carry daggers on his person.

Narbazanes attempted to plunge the dagger into Balian's neck, and only the other man's quick reactions kept him from succeeding. Balian had Narbazanes' wrist in an iron grip, attempting to force the dagger as far away from himself as possible. The best thing would be to make Narbazanes drop the dagger altogether, but the Magelord's desperation made him unnaturally strong.

Dust got into their eyes, their mouths, their nostrils. They were sweating and panting; each man striving to survive as well as making sure that the other did not. Balian was not sure for how long he could maintain this wrestle, but he was still not fully healed, and this prolonged struggle was taking its toll on him. He made a calculated risk and loosened his grip on Narbazanes' wrist. At the same time, he rolled away so that the man could not stab him. The dagger missed by about half an inch; much to close for his liking. Sweat ran down his face as he gasped for breath, making pale tracks in the dirt on his skin.

Narbazanes charged at him again. Balian sidestepped him. The dagger glanced off his chainmail, creating a thin silver line on the otherwise dull metal. The next time Narbazanes launched an offensive, the blacksmith was ready; he caught the man's arm and made sure that the dagger passed underneath his arm instead of his body, and then he did what he did best, and drove his forehead against the bridge of his enemy's nose. There was a crack as the bone was broken. The Magelord staggered away, blood streaming from his broken nose. He did not look so regal 

anymore, but he was enraged, and an enraged and trapped man was a dangerous man, for he would do anything to change his predicament.

No one dared to interfere, for they feared what Narbazanes and his spells could do to them. Will, fighting two of Narbazanes' supporters, could see what was going on from the corner of his eye. Balian was tiring. It was not so hard to tell. The blacksmith stumbled, and the magelord was upon him. The dagger flashed, as if signalling death.

"Jack!" hollered Will. "Jack! Barbossa! We have to do something!"

"Leave it to me, Whelp!" said Jack. He hit one of Narbazanes' supporters on the head with an empty rum bottle, stunning the man and thus allowing him to get away. Jack was not averse to killing, but he preferred not to do it unless he had no other choice. It was such messy work and one simply could not go from port to port wearing a bloodstained shirt. He made his way through the throngs of men, looking for a good vantage point, one in which he would be safe to watch, and do other things. "Oi! Whelp! Watch me back, will ya?"

"I'm a little busy at the moment!" came Will's reply.

"Stuff you and your pitiful excuses," muttered Jack. "Uh...Scraggly— I mean, Barbossa! Can you watch me back? I'm gonna try an' help our blacksmith in distress!"

"What can ye do, Jack?" said Barbossa. "Ye be comin' up with another mad plan that won't work?"

"You may kill me, but you may never insult me," said Jack with a grin. Then the grin faded away as Barbossa's eyes took on a gleeful gleam. "Figuratively, that is," he said. "Now, just watch me back or we'll be in mournin' for a second time, and I'm not one who appreciates havin' to abstain from women and drink just because a friend has died, savvy?"

Balian knew he was losing the fight. He was short of breath, and his body was making its complaints known, especially about his wound. Narbazanes noticed where his surcoat had been stained by the still bleeding wound. He smirked, and then drove his knee into Balian's almost healed injury. The man let out a guttural cry of pain. His limbs suddenly lost strength as the agony overtook him. He vaguely registered that Narbazanes was bringing the edge of the dagger closer to his exposed throat. And then there was a loud bang. Narbazanes became limp. The dagger fell from his grasp harmlessly. He slumped over Balian. Balian immediately pushed the Magelord off him, and he realized that there was a bloody hole in the back of his enemy's skull. Some distance away, holding a smoking pistol, was a very smug Jack.

"I dunno why you insist on complicatin' simple things," said the pirate as Barbossa rolled his eyes. "It's actually all very easy, y'know."

* * *

When Aragorn arrived at the Haradrim camp, he realized that the fighting had stopped. Regardless of race, men were tending to the wounded and putting out fires.

"You're late," said Balian, limping over the greet them.

"A king is never late..." Aragorn began.

"Then why do you need a sundial?" asked Legolas. "If I remember correctly, there is a large and elaborate one in White Tree's courtyard which hadn't been there before I disappeared off to Troy."

"Well, all right then," said Aragorn, much too happy to see his friend alive to think of a clever rebuttal. "A king is seldom late."

"We'll work on that later," said Gimli to Legolas with a wink. The dwarf dismounted most ungracefully and ran over to Balian. "Bless you, laddie! We thought that you'd died, until Faramir here ended our misery."

"I didn't expect to see you on the battlefield though," said Faramir, "and looking so hale."

"Goddesses are unpredictable at the very best," said Balian.

"And Narbazanes?" said Aragorn. "What happened to him?"

Balian sighed. "I have to say that I am ashamed," he said. "To know the whole story, ask Jack. He'll be more than happy to elaborate."

"I'd rather _not_ ask Jack," said Legolas, glancing over to where the pirate was celebrating their victory. Somehow, he had found the Haradrim's store of alcohol and was being uncommonly generous with it. That could be attributed to the abundant amount of it.

"Let's just say that no matter how powerful Narbazanes was, he was not immune to pistols," said Balian.

"Jack just got lucky," said Legolas. "For most of the war, Narbazanes didn't even show his face. If he had, I would have—"

"Oh no, you wouldn't have," said Gimli, grinning widely. "You couldn't even deal with Narbazanes' lovely...what was it? Ah yes, concubine."

Balian had thought that elves did not blush. That day, he was proved to be wrong.

* * *

**A/N: **One more short-ish epilogue to go and then this instalment is over. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and don't hesitate to tell me if I made some stupid mistakes. I was sick for two days this week and didn't write on those two days, which wasn't exactly great for the chapter.

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	29. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Two years later..._

Will paced in the gardens of the Houses of Healing. The full moon shone down on him, casting him and everything in a silver glow. Jack the monkey, in his skeletal form, sat on a stone bench watching the man. The monkey had given up trying to understand men. If grapes could not placate them, then what could?

"Whelp, you're makin' me dizzy," complained Jack, taking a drink from his bottle.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Jack," snapped Will. "Just shut it, will you?"

"It always takes a long time," said Aragorn, trying to comfort his Admiral. "When Arwen had Eldarion—"

"You were even worse," said Legolas. "At least Will isn't attempting to charge into the birthing chamber." As soon as the words left his lips, the elf regretted having ever mentioned the idea. Will headed straight for the birthing chamber, and only Barbossa's quick actions stopped him from actually going there and bashing down the door.

"Mrs. Turner's in the hands o' the best healers," said the old pirate. "She be tougher than she looks."

"Yeah," said Jack. "So why don't you just relax and have a drink, eh?"

"Jack, do you even know how it feels to be so helpless while your wife is going through the pains of childbirth?" demanded Balian.

"Of course I don't," said Jack. "I don't have a wife, yet."

"And if ya don't take a bath within the next three days, you won't ever have one," said Anna-Maria.

"It isn't fair to judge a man by his level of hygiene," protested Jack.

They were about to launch into a loud debate about the importance of personal hygiene when Andromache rushed out. "Will! Come—" She didn't even get to finish her sentence. Will sped past her, almost colliding into pillars and walls in his desperate race to get to his wife.

"Boy or girl?" demanded Paris.

"It be strong?" asked Barbossa

"You were about to tell us good news, weren't you?" said Balian.

"What's Whelplet number two's name?" asked Jack.

"Where did you put your brain, Jack Sparrow?" demanded Anna-Maria.

"Me brain? I dunno, luv. Must've dropped it somewhere."

"Not all at once!" protested Andromache. "I can only answer one question at a time. Yes, Balian, it is good news. Will and Elizabeth have a new baby girl. Yes, Captain Barbossa, she is strong. She doesn't have a name, Captain Sparrow, and she won't be named after you."

"Pity," said Jack. "I think Jack Sparrow is a beautiful name."

"For a girl?" said Anna-Maria, rolling her eyes. Sometimes, she did wonder what she wonder what she saw in that fool of a pirate.

* * *

Will could not stop looking at his baby daughter. To him, she was one of the most perfect beings which he had ever beheld, the other two being Elizabeth and Willie. "She's beautiful, Elizabeth, just lovely, like you."

"You mean she's inherited my charm and sweet temper?" said Elizabeth. The birth had tired her, but it had been easier than when she'd given birth to Willie.

"Yes, my lovely wife," said Will, bending down to kiss her. The baby, blissfully unaware of everything that was going on, slept on in her father's arms.

"I think we should call Willie in now," said Elizabeth. "He should see his new sister."

"But won't he be asleep by now? It is past midnight."

"I'm sure he won't mind if someone woke him up, provided it isn't Jack."

"Why? What's wrong with Jack?"

"Setting off fireworks indoors is not a good way to wake someone up."

* * *

The newest member of the Turner family was christened Jane Margaret Turner, after her two grandmothers. Willie was rather disappointed in his baby sister. The only thing she did was sleep, eat, cry, wet the bed, and generally take up his parents' attention. "Now, now, be a good man," said Barbossa. "She'll grow up to be just as lovely as yer mother."

"She don't look nothin' like Mama," said Willie. "She's little and wrinkly and red, and she doesn't have much hair. Anyway, her hair's brown, like Papa's and mine."

"Well, she be Will Turner's daughter," said Barbossa.

Little Jane Turner had an abnormal number of surrogate uncles and aunts who doted on her. Balian and Will had built her cot, and Legolas sang her songs while Paris tried reading poetry to her. He swore that she understood him; Helen told him that he would be better off reading poetry to Jack the monkey instead. Cassandra and Bahram sent gifts all the way from Harad, including little silk outfits which would be wasted on a baby who often regurgitated milk. Anna-Maria helped Elizabeth to look after Little Jane, and Elizabeth once caught Jack making faces at her baby to try and make the tiny Turner laugh.

Barbossa was looking forward to the day when he would be able to teach Jane Turner the tricks of his trade. Surely, with two such spectacular pirates for parents, the girl would turn out to be a pirate herself. After all, Willie was already accomplished in the art of piracy, and even the two younger boys, Barisian and Astyanax, were starting to learn. Of course, with Barbossa teaching them, how could they not learn?

* * *

Balian stood on the balcony, letting the cool night breeze from the Anduin stroke his face like a lover's hand. It brought with it the smell of the sea, not that the sea held particularly significant memories for him. However, if not for the numerous shipwrecks, he would not have been where he was now. It was silent. Barisian was sleeping in a little cot against the wall.

After so many years of war, Middle Earth was slowly beginning to recover. Both Gondor and Rohan had established trade with Harad. After some experimentation, Bahram had discovered that while his country was not so good for growing crops, there were certain spices which he could grow.

Imad was delighted with the new spice trade. Middle Earth was a lovely place, but the food lacked flavour, or so he felt. He had missed the curries which had made his mouth burn as if it had been set on fire. Now, he had his curries again.

The man on the balcony smiled wistfully. It had been almost eight years since he had left France to go to the Holy Land. Eight years since he had lost Jocelyn. He had never thought he would miss 

grey dreary France, but here he was, thinking of home. 'Barisian is the son of a French blacksmith and a princess of French blood, but he does not even know of his own roots,' he thought. What about the graves of his mother and his foster father? Had they been forgotten? Was the village still there or had it been razed to the ground by some attacking army?

Barisian's whimpers dragged him out of his reverie. Balian hurried to comfort his son. The little boy clutched the front of his father's shirt as Balian murmured soothing words and rocked him back and forth.

"It's all right, _mon_ _petit_," he said. "Papa's here."

"You're not going to go away?" said Barisian.

"Papa is definitely not going anywhere without you," said Balian.

"There was lots of blood," said the little boy, sniffing. "You were lying on the floor and you wouldn't get up even when I pulled your hand and you were bleeding and..."

"Hush, hush," said Balian, holding his son even tighter. He kissed the top of his son's head. "It's just a bad dream. Everything's all right."

"But then there was a balrog, and lots and lots of orcs with big sharp teeth, and they were going to eat me."

"Has Uncle Legolas and Uncle Gimli been telling you bedtime stories again?" said Balian.

Barisian shook his head. "Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin told me about it. Were you scared, Papa?"

"Oh yes," said Balian, resolving to talk to Merry and Pippin about what they should not tell a four year old. It was true they did not come to Minas Tirith often, but he saw them more than he saw Sam and the Took and the Brandybuck tended to make their presence known to all. "I was very scared."

"Papa?"

"Hm?"

"Will you take me to the sea? I want to be a sailor."

"I don't see why not..." began Balian. Then he stopped. What if there was another shipwreck? He pushed the thought aside. He could not let the fear of shipwrecks keep him from enjoying perfectly normal aspects of life. Besides, what could happen if he just sailed close the shore? He could borrow a little fishing boat and perhaps even teach Barisian something about fishing. Besides, if God wanted to place him somewhere else, he would not be able to do anything about it.

"Can we go tomorrow?" said Barisian.

* * *

Against the splashing of the surf, the high pitched giggles of a little boy could be heard. Barisian loved the unsteady feeling of being in a boat. It felt strange, but it was fun. Balian was glad to hear his son's laughter. Out of the three older boys, he had always been the quietest.

"Can she go faster, Papa? Can she?" asked Barisian.

"I don't know, Barisian. Perhaps it isn't..."

"Please?" Barisian gazed at his father with wide brown eyes. It was an expression which Balian was not very good at resisting, and the boy knew it.

"I'm not a very good sailor, _mon_ _petit bonhomme_," said Balian, wishing that his son would stop trying to manipulate him with sweet facial expressions to which he was not immune.

"But Uncle Will and Uncle Jack-Jack and Uncle Cappin can make their boats go really really really fast."

"You do know that Barbossa's name isn't Captain, right, Bari? Anyway, Will, Jack and Barbossa are sailors. I am not a sailor."

"What are you then, Papa?"

"I'm a blacksmith."

"Auntie Ando said you were a 'knight'. What's that?"

"A 'knight' means someone who fights."

"But you said fighting was bad."

"I fight bad people and stop them from hurting others."

"I hit Astyanax when he was being nasty and you made me miss dessert."

"That's different. You are friends, and friends do not hit each other."

"Papa?"

"Hm?"

"Why does Uncle Imad call me 'prince'?"

"Um...I don't know."

"I asked him once, and he said I made a mistake, but I know he called me 'little prince'."

"Maybe it's just like the way I call you _mon petit bonhomme_."

Balian was so engrossed in his little conversation with his son that he failed to notice that the boat had drifted off course. He swore when he did see they were far from land. Normally, it would not have taken long to steer the boat back to shore, but the sky was darkening, the sea was getting rougher. 'Why, God?' he wondered. 'Why is it that every time I sail in a ship, a boat or a leaky piece of junk, I get shipwrecked?'

He pulled Barisian close to him. "Hold on," he muttered to his son. "If we fall into the water, I don't want you to be scared; just hold on to me. I'm going to try and get back to land." He doubted that he would be able to get back to land, but it was much better to say that than to tell a four year old that they were going to be sucked under the water and then suddenly arrive somewhere totally unfamiliar.

Lightning flashed in the sky. Barisian hung onto his father for dear life. His Papa was so strong, and he was sure that nothing bad was going to happen, but he was still scared. Balian employed every trick which Will, Jack and Barbossa had taught him, but it was no use. This was divine will, and men could not fight it. Their little fishing boat capsized. Water closed over their heads. Balian's instincts made him struggle to reach the surface, but it was no use. Some unearthly force was sucking him downwards.

Then they surfaced again, or rather, they were lying in very shallow water which was not deep enough to submerge them. The water, however, was much colder than that of the sea which they had just been shipwrecked in.

Balian slowly sat up. Barisian was still holding onto him. "It's all right," he told his son. "We're safe. Papa's got you. We're safe." The boy opened his eyes.

"Where are we, Papa?" he asked. "Why are we in a forest? Why is it night time? Is this snow?"

Balian glanced around. The rocky streambed which he was sitting on was not very comfortable. He scooped up Barisian and got out of the stream, trying to use his own body heat to keep the boy warm. The bare trees were covered in a dusting of white powder. It was dark, save for the light of the moon, which only made the trees look like the white bones of beings long dead.

"I don't know, _mon petit_," he said through chattering teeth. Their wet clothes did nothing to keep them warm. The place was somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place it. The cold numbed all thoughts. The only thing he was actually able to think about was finding shelter and some way of making a fire.

"I'm cold, Papa," mumbled Barisian. The boy sounded as if he was falling asleep. That was not good.

"No, no," said Balian. "Come on, Barisian. Don't fall asleep. Come on! Wake up!" This was bad. He needed to find shelter, and he needed to find it quickly. He stumbled through the forest, letting his feet lead him. The trees began to grow sparser, until the forest gave way to open fields, covered in snow and stubble from the last harvest and separated into long lots. In the distance, Balian could see the light, and light mean a settlement. "Thank God," he whispered, summoning all the energy which his half-frozen body possessed. He was glad that he was strong, and used to harsh conditions. The man half-staggered and half-ran towards the settlement. The distance seemed to be unbearably great.

At the edge of the fields, there was a slope, leading up to a dark, seemingly unused cottage. There was a garden next to the cottage, although it was abandoned. Why else would the plants be growing so haphazardly that they hid the path?

It wasn't until Balian went inside the cottage that he realized why this entire place seemed familiar. He had been born here.

_**Fin**_

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who've stuck with me through this. I couldn't have done it without your support, and special thanks to those of you who have pointed out any stupid mistakes which I've made (and I've made quite a few of them). You saved me from further embarrassment. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the epilogue, and indeed, the story and the entire series. I'll see you next weekend when I present _**Chance Encounter: Legacy of the Third Age**_**. **By the way, if you're interested in getting a sneak preview of the story, read the epilogue of _**Prelude to Heaven **_(which was written a long time ago). The fourth instalment is also a sequel to that story and I will mention some bits of it in the next fic.


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